A Hopeless Place: Sequel to A Study in Magic
by Reichenfeels
Summary: Five years after completing their schooling, John and Sherlock take on the challenges of parenthood while helping the Order of the Phoenix take down the Dark Lord.  Slash/kidfic
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone! Welcome to my sequel to A Study in Magic (if you haven't read it I suggest you do that first, it's only got nine chapters.) I just thought I'd come in here and put a few notes down before we begin. First of all: This one takes place five years after graduation from Hogwarts (you'll understand the exact starting point in a moment, it's rather obvious). As with any crossover fic I need you guys to patiently accept what I've added to the original HP storyline. I changed it a little, please don't be upset. I adore JK Rowling and the BBC Sherlock franchises and I hope to do both of them justice here, not to caricaturize either one. Also, THIS FIC IS A SLASH. I'm sorry. I know a lot of you guys reviewed on the last fic that you don't like the Johnlock slash pairing, and out of respect for you and for their friendship I kept it platonic, but this one is a slash. I hope you can like it anyway, it's not overly fluffy, in fact I find it endearing (but what the hell do I know? I ship them **_**hard**_**). **

**Still here? Haven't been put off? Good! Welcome! I hope you enjoy! I adore comments, favorites, watches, and reviews so please let me know what you think of this.**

**-xo**

A Hopeless Place

Chapter 1

John Watson couldn't sleep. It was ridiculous, really; he was beyond exhausted. A fourteen hour shift at St. Mungo's and then he had to come home and put up with Sherlock's whining and Penny's suddenly adamant need for her father's attention. And then of course there was the holiday; he and Sherlock had gotten into a row about it when John came home with the muggle sweets to pass out. He had won, of course, because it was Penny's first Halloween and despite the fact that he found it stupid Sherlock would do anything for the baby girl.

"She isn't going to remember it, John. What's the point?" he had crossed his arms hard over his chest while the baby cooed at his feet, her brown curls bobbing as she slammed her little doll against the ground, emerald eyes shining brightly.

"Yes, Sherlock, that's what the pictures are for. You insisted upon this family and now you're going to have to start acting like a family man." He tossed his husband the deerstalker hat, which Sherlock scoffed at.

John smiled at the thought, hoping to get the pictures printed after his shift tomorrow. Sherlock holding the little girl in his arms while wearing the ridiculous cap. It was very amusing. He turned onto his side, facing the sleeping man. His face was a mask of gentleness, all frustrations and deep thoughts erased when he slept. He hand just decided to close his eyes for the night when a brightness filled the room. John sat bolt straight, his wand pulled out from under the pillow. Hovering at the foot of the bed was a silver phoenix. Dumbledore's patronus.

"There has been an emergency. The order is coming to your flat. I'll be along soon." The wise wizard's voice echoed throughout the room, and John kicked Sherlock hard under the covers. He groaned and turned around, incoherent.

"What's going on, Dumbledore?" John whispered, his eyes flitting to the bassinet in the corner of the room. He elbowed Sherlock again, who didn't sit up until the little girl started wailing.

"All will be explained." Dumbledore said once more, the phoenix fading out into darkness.

"Whathappened?" Sherlock mumbled, rubbing his eyes and reluctantly climbing out of bed, going to the child.

"Order's coming here. Some sort of emergency." He eyed Sherlock before sighing and following his lead, getting out of bed. He went to the closet and pulled out a cable-knit sweater for himself and a t-shirt for Sherlock, pulling on dark jeans over his boxer shorts. He looked to Sherlock, who had the baby nestled in his long arms, shushing her gently. It was certainly a sight to see, his usually cold husband looking at this little girl with so much affection, and she wasn't even theirs.

That night six months ago was still ingrained in John's memory, as it had been the day their lives had changed forever. He had been sitting in his office at St. Mungo's, between patients, exhausted, when the snow leopard patronus appeared before him. "John, I need you to do something for me." Sherlock's voice had said. John looked at it wearily and with a mix of concern; Sherlock had been with the Order that day investigating a muggle couple who had been murdered. "The James family, they have a baby girl. She's a witch."

"A baby? How old?"

"Three to four months by the look of her. That isn't important. Mycroft is bringing her to the hospital, she has some injuries from the spell backfire, and I need you to make sure she'll be alright." Sherlock actually sounded worried about this little girl, and John sighed, nodding.

"If she is so young how can you tell she's magic?" John asked tiredly.

"It's obvious. I need to go. Get back to me when you've seen her." And with that the patronus disappeared and John was paged to a room where Mycroft had sat, a baby girl with wide green eyes and brown curls in his arms. She seemed calm and oddly aware for such a young child, and the little scrapes along her cheek and arms had been easy enough to heal. Other than that, she was healthy, but John couldn't find any sort of indication that she was a witch. He supposed it was one of those intuitive things that only Sherlock could pick up on.

The little girl was placed into the orphanage associated with St. Mungo's, which was sadly fuller than ever since the rise of He-who-must-not-be-named. It had been a week since she was there when Sherlock had asked John if they could just adopt her; he had some sort of connection to the child that neither of them could understand. But John was weak when it came to Sherlock, especially when he showed the softness in his heart that was so rarely seen, and within a few weeks the little girl, Penelope, was an official member of their family.

John crossed the room, fully dressed, and held out his arms for their daughter. "You need to get dressed, they're coming." Sherlock placed her in his arms and crossed the room to his clothes when several loud _cracks_ were heard on the street below their flat. Penny wailed louder than ever; the sound of apparation traumatized her, and John figured it must be ingrained in her subconscious to fear the sound, as it was likely one of the last she heard before her parents were killed.

Sherlock scowled, looping a belt around his waist. "Why do they have to always come _here_? They've all got homes, and we've got a baby who is barely beginning to sleep through the night. Ridiculous."

"A lot of us have children, Sherlock." John said tiredly, grabbing his wand from the bed and going down the stairs to let the others in.

John opened the door and greeted them quietly as they entered, each looking tired and more than a little miffed; Mycroft, Remus Lupin, Greg and Molly Lestrade, Sally, the Longbottoms (whose one-year-old son was wide awake and looking confused in his mother's arms), Aberforth Dumbledore, and Arthur Weasley. They all trudged up the stairs into the sitting room, looking around expectedly for Dumbledore.

"Where the bloody hell is he?" Lestrade said, annoyed. "Waking us up in the middle of the night and he isn't even here?" The others nodded in agitated assent.

John shrugged and went about making tea for them all when Sherlock came down the stairs, not saying a word of welcome to any of them. "Where are the Potters? And Sirius and Hagrid?" he asked. The others looked to Remus, who shrugged at them, not knowing where his closest friends were.

_Crack_!

Another loud wail from Penny, and the others chuckled as Sherlock jumped up and snatched her from John. He was so protective of her. Dumbledore strode into the room, looking worse for wear.

"What happened, Albus?" Arthur said, looking nervous.

"Lilly and James are dead." He said in a quiet, resonate voice. Several of them gasped, looking wide-eyed to eachother. Sherlock's eyes slid to Lupin, who was clutching the back of the chair in front of him, looking as though he might faint.

"How? What…I mean…" Molly's eyes were filled with tears, and beside her Alice Longbottom had her face buried in her husband's chest.

"Voldemort himself did it. Came into their house…he was there for the boy, but they got in the way…" He greeted everyone's wide eyes with his sad blue ones. John crossed the room to stand beside his husband, hand protectively on Penny's soft curls.

"So…Harry is dead too?" Lupin managed to choke. He didn't cry, but his body was shaking hard.

"No. The boy survived. We don't know how, but the spell rebounded off of him and hit Voldemort instead. He's gone." Dumbledore's tone suggested that he didn't believe the last part entirely, but that he had no better explanation for them. Sherlock's mind was racing but he didn't say anything, quietly bouncing Penny in his arms until she was calm and yawning.

"How did he…I mean, _why?_" said Aberforth, eying his brother suspiciously. It was clear he thought Dumbledore was hiding something.

"Sirius Black…" Mycroft whispered. The others turned to him with faces in various stages of shock.

"_What_?" Lupin hissed, crossing to get in the man's face. "Don't you _dare_ blame this on Sirius."

"The call came in just before Dumbledore's. He killed Peter Pettigrew. He's the one that told…told _him_ about them, sold them out, gave them away. He's on his way to Azkaban right now…" he greeted Remus's crazed eyes with cold gray ones, unaffected by his rage. "Your friend betrayed us all."

"You're LYING!" Remus screamed, and Penny and Neville both yelled out in fear, Penny's crying staring up yet again. "Can you get your child under control please?" He turned and snapped at Sherlock, and both John and Mycroft made a move to lunge at him.

"Enough!" Dumbledore yelled. "I also heard what Mycroft did. It's true. He's on his way to the prison. Pettigrew is dead, Remus." He looked sadly at the man, whose face crumpled.

"It isn't true! It can't be! Sirius was—_is_ James' best friend. MY best friend! He'd never in a million years…" he was beginning to hyperventilate, and John ran to him, helping him to take a seat on the ground, putting his head between his knees as he sobbed.

"What's going to happen the child, then?" Sally said quietly, turning to Dumbledore.

"I'll take him." Lupin said suddenly, snapping his head up. Dumbledore shook his head slowly.

"Hagrid and I have already taken him to his aunt and uncle. He will live with them, away from the magical world. It will be better for him that way." Everyone's eyes cast downward, silent for a long while. It wasn't a secret how horrible Lilly's family was, especially the sister, but no one could argue Dumbledore's logic. Harry Potter, only a year old, responsible for taking down the Dark Lord. In the morning the news will spread; the entire magical world will know his name. He'll be famous without ever knowing it.

John looked to Sherlock and Penny, swallowing hard. He knew that Voldemort was gone, at least for the present moment, but a heavy lump formed in his throat. He was afraid, for his family, for the entire order. So many lives had been taken that day, so many hearts broken. Penny could have easily been one of them, those months ago. Another life snuffed out, another name in the paper. But she lived, and thanks to Sherlock she was safe in their home, surrounded by amazing witches and wizards whose sole purpose in life is to protect others. He knew, now that the Potters were dead, that purpose would escalate into something much more vibrant, that this group of so many different types of people would become stronger out of this, more banded together, more determined to not let any more people die in this war.

After Dumbledore reminded them all to stay vigilant and on the lookout for Voldemort's followers, who may still be doing his bidding, he wished them all goodnight, and one by one they silently left the flat. Sherlock held Penny's head close to his chest as they apparated away, each crack making her jump in fright.

John sighed, "We need to do something about that…she can't keep freaking out every time someone apparates." He kissed the little girl's head and went to sit in his armchair, head in his hands. "James and Lilly… I would have _never_ thought…and Sirius…it can't be true, can it?" he looked up desperately to Sherlock. Sherlock, who always had an answer, would surely have a theory. But the man shrugged, laying his sallow cheek against Penny's head, gray eyes staring into the distance.

"That could have been her…" he finally whispered, looking to John. "She could have been killed just as easily as they were. Murdered in cold blood, just for being alive. These…people…they're easy for me to understand; murderers, serial killers, psychopaths, you know I can read them like a book…but this all feels so _personal_. Ever since I saw her, John, I…I can't just senselessly solve cases anymore. I feel them, I mourn for losses. That little boy, Harry. He's all alone now. What if that were us, what if we were killed…What would happen to her?"

John stood and put a hand against Sherlock's face, staring into his eyes. "Don't…Don't talk like that, Sherlock. You can't." his voice cracked, and Sherlock pressed his forehead against John's, little Penny falling asleep between them as he placed a light kiss on his lips.

"Go get some sleep, John." He whispered, and with that they went back up to bed, all three of them sleeping soundly together until the sunrise.

**Welp! What do you think? Please leave me feedback in the reviews, they inspire me to write faster! ;)**

**-xo**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again! Here's chapter 2! Can you tell that I'm obsessed with the Sherlock-being-a-magical-daddy thing? Yes? **_**Good.**_

Chapter 2

Sherlock felt like he was taking a massive step back in the "getting your child to sleep" business. Penny, who was now well on her way to growing a full mouth of teeth, was miserable with pain and slept for very few hours during the night. To Sherlock, this wasn't so torturous, as he slept very little as it was and his job allowed him to do much of his work from the flat, but he felt terrible for John, who had been working fourteen hour shifts. He looked like a corpse when he would get home at night, and Sherlock did his best to at least get some food in him before he collapsed from exhaustion each night.

Today, however, under the florescent lighting of his little office at the ministry, Sherlock felt like he was about to pass out. He had to file the reports for the case he had solved the week before, and the tedious job of filling out such mundane details was boring to say the least. He glanced at Penny, who was gurgling and cooing on the blanket on the floor, clutching tightly to the little stuffed doll Sherlock had found in her crib when he discovered her. He sighed at her and rubbed his gray eyes, leaning back in his chair.

"Sleeping on the job, Sherly?" Mycroft strode into the office without an invitation, umbrella at his side. His brother groaned, opening one eye to glare at him.

"If it isn't the queen himself…" he muttered. Mycroft ignored him, going to Penny.

"Hello little princess!" he cooed, and Sherlock rolled his eyes again as his brother lifted her high above his head. She shrieked with laughter, the high pitched sounds reverberating in Sherlock's tired brain, making him wince. "Oh how is my favorite niece in the world? Can you say Mycroft? Can you say uncle Mycroft?"

"For heaven's sake, Mycroft, she's a child not a dog. You don't need to use that tone." Sherlock rubbed his temples and turned his desk chair to face him. "What do you want?"

"It's Penny's birthday next week." He said, balancing her on his hip as she clutched onto his suit jacket, gurgling.

"I am aware, thank you." Sherlock snapped, annoyed.

"Mummy and Father want to host a dinner party." Mycroft said, not meeting his brother's eyes.

"No. Absolutely not. Not going to happen. No." Sherlock glared at Mycroft for even suggesting it. Their stuffy parents didn't even celebrate Christmas, and now they want to host a birthday dinner?

"Oh come now, Sherlock. Mum never thought you would ever give her a grandchild. They want to be a part of her life too." He frowned at the childlike smugness on his brother's face. "Think about it, won't you?"

"I said no, Mycroft."

"Fine. I'll ask John."

Sherlock glared at him. He knew as soon as John found out about this he would take Mycroft's side. Damn him for being so family oriented. He frowned at Penny, all smiles and dimples in her uncles arms. He hated being bullied into anything. "Yes, alright _fine_. But just the family, none of father's annoying work friends." Mycroft smirked and placed a loud kiss on Penny's chubby cheek before setting her down.

"Go home, Sherlock, you look like you could pass out." He frowned at his brother and left the office.

Sherlock sighed and looked to Penny, who yawned, her full little mouth forming a perfect O. "I couldn't agree more." He muttered, slamming the file on his desk shut and scooping up his daughter, striding out of the building and apparating back to Baker Street with a _crack_.

John came home before sunset for the first time in weeks. He was tired, as usual, but excited for the weekend and the chance to spend some time with his family. When he turned the handle on the door to their flat, the first thing that hit him was the silence. His house was _never_ quiet during the day. Panic hit him like a train as he ran up into the kitchen, finding it empty. Same as the living room. He threw open the door to his bedroom and sighed, hand over his frantically racing heart. Sherlock and Penny were sprawled across the bed, their messy curls falling into their sleeping faces. It was remarkable, really, how similar she managed to look to Sherlock sometimes. She spent so much time with him that her gestures were becoming like his, all extended fingers and swooping movements. He was sure that when she learned to walk she would walk like him too. John smiled softly and left them, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Hudson made her appearance then, mewing pathetically. The old cat hardly got any attention since they adopted Penny, and when she did it was usually by the baby girl, who would pull on her tail or collapse on top of her. John chuckled and went into the kitchen to feed her.

He had just sat down in his armchair with a cup of tea when the silver peacock appeared in the room. John groaned, leaning his head back tiredly. "What now, Mycroft?"

"You and Sherlock need to get to St. Mungo's. Quickly." Mycroft's voice resonated throughout the room, sounding stressed and more than a little agitated.

"I literally _just_ got home from there. Is it important?" he rubbed his eyes.

"Alice and Frank have been attacked."

John nearly dropped his cup, running to the room to get Sherlock.

They ran up the steps to the wizard hospital, John leading the way up into the infirmary. Sherlock, who had Penny strapped to his back and managed to not look like a complete fool wearing the harness, had his thin lips pressed into a hard line. John stopped suddenly, going into his office and grabbing the white doctor's robe and his eyeglasses before continuing at a near run to the fourth floor, Sherlock trailing on his heels. There was a nurse waiting outside the door, who silently handed him a clipboard. John flipped through it quickly and slammed it into Sherlock's hands, throwing open the door. The nurse held an arm in front of Sherlock, "No visitors, sir. They're in shock."

"They're with me." John scowled, taking Sherlock's hand and pulling him into the darkened room. Alice and Frank Longbottom lay on two separate beds, each with thin bracelets on their wrists and ankles that Sherlock recognized as vises, holding them to the bed so they can't thrash about and hurt themselves. "Stay here." He mouthed to Sherlock, and held a finger to his lips when Penny looked at him. She replied with a shushing sound, and Sherlock had to appreciate her intelligence despite the situation.

John approached Alice's bed very slowly, and her empty eyes turned to focus on him, no recognition in her face. "Hello, Alice…" he said gently, "You alright?" she continued to stare blankly at him, but when he reached out a hand to check her temperature she yelled out, terror on every nerve of her face. Sherlock, alarmed, looked at the clipboard in his hands.

Name: LONGBOTTOM, ALICE

Age: 26

Reason for visit: SHOCK/SEVERE MENTAL DAMAGE

Spell(s) inflicted: CRUCIATUS

Condition: CRITICAL

The cruciatus curse. They had been tortured into insanity. Sherlock looked up at his husband, who was now at Frank's side. Unlike his wife, he didn't respond to anything, neither touch nor sounds. John felt his wrist for his heart rate, his face for his temperature, and all the while the brown eyes stayed glued to the ceiling. John sighed and Sherlock could see the pain, the fear; they had only seen them a few months ago, crying over the death of the Potters. Holding their little boy, Neville. So many children were left without parents. Sherlock went to John and wrapped his long fingers over his wrist, leading him gently from the room. Once outside in the bright lights of the hall, John removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Sherlock knew this to be a sign that he was fighting to control his emotions.

A nurse approached him, awaiting instructions. John cleared his throat, "No visitors except family until Alice is stable, and even then make sure they are supervised, especially with the son. Start her on an Aequus potion, just a low grade one, for now, and let me know if her condition changes. And try to get a reaction out of Frank, standard procedure on him." He sounded so tired and worn, but the nurse wrote down everything and trotted off to administer his commands. John turned to Sherlock, "Let's go to my office." Sherlock nodded and followed him back to the room, where John shut the door, leaning against it as tears rolled down his face. He suddenly looked so much older than he actually was, and Sherlock set Penny on the rug before going to him, hands against the door on either side of his head, sheltering him with his body.

He placed his head against John's and looked deep into those blue eyes, "It's alright. We're okay." He whispered, and John nodded, sniffing as he tried to control himself. Sherlock put a hand against his face and wiped away the tears with his thumb. "You are the _best_ man I know. But you don't need to be so brave, John. Why don't you assign them to another doctor? You don't need to put yourself through this."

John shook his head, "You know I can't do that." His voice was pained.

Sherlock nodded, "I know. But you should know that no one would blame you if you did."

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck, struggling to control his tears as he pulled him into a kiss. He didn't know what he would do if he didn't have Sherlock there to support him; he supposed he would have fallen off the deep end long ago. A knock sounded at the door, and John pulled away, placing his hands on Sherlock's chest to push him back so he could open it. Sherlock stayed put. "It's Mycroft. He can wait a bit." He had heard the familiar footfalls on the linoleum tile outside, had recognized the knocking pattern. He leaned down and kissed John again, but the doctor was flushed and nervous, pushing Sherlock away. The taller man laughed quietly and wiped the rest of John's tears away before striding back across the room to Penny. He swung her into his long arms as Mycroft came into the room, appraising John's puffy eyes with a grimace.

"So, doctor, what is the prognosis?" He took a seat in front of the desk, ignoring Sherlock and Penny, eyes on John.

"Well, they're alive…" John started, always focusing on the positives first. Sherlock liked that about him. "But they've been tortured into a state of shock. Alice has more mental trauma than her husband, but they're both out of it. It's unlikely that they will ever be…normal again." He sighed, rubbing his eyes and sitting behind the desk. "Do you know who did it yet?"

Mycroft frowned, "Yes. Bellatrix Lestrange. She's on her way to Azkaban as we speak. Confessed to the whole thing. She seemed rather pleased with her work, really."

"And you've contacted Dumbledore?" John asked. Mycroft nodded. "I suppose he's too busy to make a trip out…perhaps over the holidays…" John was beginning to mutter to himself, which he often did to stay calm. Sherlock had the urge to go to him, to wrap his arms around him and protect him from this pain. He's been protective of John since that day in Hogsmeade ten years ago.

"Well…I suppose there's nothing to do but wait then…I'll see you boys next weekend." Mycroft held out a hand to John, who shook it, and wagged a finger at Penny before striding out of the office.

"Why will he be seeing us next weekend?" John turned to Sherlock, who groaned, having completely forgotten.

"My parents are hosting a birthday party for Penny." He grumbled, but John smiled a little, so he didn't bother trying to convince him they shouldn't go. Instead they went home, putting Penny into her crib in the upstairs bedroom and going down into the kitchen to get something to eat. Neither of them were very hungry after what they had just seen, though Sherlock rarely ate as it was. After a few minutes they gave up, going to their dark room and laying together under the sheets, Sherlock holding John against his bare chest, feeling the warm tears fall against his skin as he fell asleep weeping for their friends.

**Please leave me reviews and tell me what you think! I will eventually jump this into the future, but I'd like to know what scenes from the series you would like to see Sherlock John and Penny be a part of! **

**-xo**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

John awoke on Saturday to Sherlock playing loudly on his violin, the notes high and agitated. He groaned, looking at the watch on the bedside table. Not even 8 am yet. He sat up, noticing Hudson's tail poking out from under the pillow beside him, as if she were trying to cover her ears and sleep as well. He reluctantly got out of bed and pulled his robe on, trudging into the living room where Sherlock was already showered and dressed in his trademark black suit, back to the hall as he played his instrument. "Would it kill you to let me get some sleep for once?" he mumbled to him. Sherlock stopped and looked over his shoulder at John, setting the violin on his chair.

"Of course it wouldn't kill me. What a completely inappropriate metaphor. " he pulled the wand from his suit jacket and flicked it toward a tray of tea beside him, which floated across the room and settled itself in front of John. "I can spike that if you want me to. Lord knows we could use it today." He ran a hand through his slightly damp curls.

"Please, Sherlock. It's just dinner. You'll be fine." He rolled his blue eyes and poured himself a glass just as Penny could be heard upstairs, yelling out things in her own little language. At least she wasn't crying. They both set down their things and ran up the stairs, throwing open the door.

"Happy birthday, Penny!" John grinned and scooped her up into his arms. She laughed as he planted a kiss on her cheek and handed her to Sherlock, who also wished her a happy birthday. She looked between her two fathers, smiling sweetly.

"Da da da da da!" she cooed, and the men looked at each other in shock. "Da da da!" she insisted, pulling on a lock of Sherlock's hair, demanding his attention.

"She just said dada." John said.

"Yes, John, I heard her, thank you." His voice was just as strangled as his though, and he grinned down at her emerald eyes. "You are so _smart_! Haha! That's my girl." He kissed her cheek and she laughed again, pulling on his hair once more before settling against his chest.

John was thankful for Penny's little progression, because it completely took the edge off of Sherlock. He was almost giddy as he put the little green dress on the girl, a gift from John's sister that Sherlock had said looked ridiculous, making her repeat her new word over and over. She obliged, of course, because she completely doted on Sherlock and she knew, even at a year old, that she could get anything she wanted if she cried about it, or in this case just called him dada. John was harder of course. She saw less of him and therefore was very demanding of his attention, almost possessive of the man when he was in her line of sight.

It seemed like only moments later when Mycroft came into the flat at exactly noon, smartly dressed as usual. He grinned when he walked into the nursery to his brother tying a green ribbon in the girl's brown curls. "Well aren't you quite the mother hen?" his tone was amused to say the least, but Sherlock ignored him. "Happy birthday princess!" he completely changed his tone as he approached the child, who smiled sweetly at him. "Ready to go see grams and papa?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes, "Grandfather and grandmother will suffice, thank you. No need to give the impression that they are some sort of warm and loving people. _Papa._ Please." He sniffed and balanced Penny on his hip.

She looked to Mycroft with a determined gaze and pointed a chubby finger to Sherlock. "Dada." She said, waiting for her reward of excited exclamations and kisses. Mycroft looked stunned. "_Dada."_ She insisted and finally her uncle grinned and kissed her head.

"Well, well. Aren't you a genius? I'm not surprised, really, but I was hoping her first word would be Mycroft. Or Uncle." He sighed dramatically, waving a hand in front of his face. "Are we ready, then?" He turned to face John, who had just walked into the room.

"Oh I suppose." Sherlock sighed, and they walked one by one down the stairs and to the fireplace, where John lifted the skull on the mantelpiece to reveal a small bag of floo powder. Mycroft went first, throwing the powder into the fireplace and calling out "Holmes Manor" before disappearing in a flash of green flames. John went next, and then finally Sherlock with Penny in his arms. He stepped out of the marble fireplace at his parent's estate, brushing the dust out of Penny's hair as she giggled. She preferred floo powder to apparating by a large margin. John turned to his husband, clearing the dust off of his narrow shoulders and adjusting his tie, giving him a meaningful look that clearly said for him to behave.

Marissa Holmes made her appearance there, reaching up on tiptoes to kiss Mycroft's cheek. She was smartly dressed in a pale blue business suit that made her gray, catlike eyes shine under her classes. Her pale blonde hair was, as usual, pulled into a bun. She greeted John with a small smile and went to Sherlock, placing a small hand against his angular face. "Hello dear. Thank you so much for letting us do this. Your father was so adamant that you would deny us." Sherlock snorted, shifting Penny in his long arms. The little girl looked up shyly to her grandmother, who smiled at her. "Happy birthday, darling. Are you ready for your party?" Penny gargled something incoherent at her and Sherlock set her on the ground. "Wolfgang! They're here!" Marissa turned and hurried out of the room, heels clicking against the tile. John scooped up Penny and followed her and Mycroft out of the room, Sherlock sighing and trailing after a moment.

After a few moments of exchanged pleasantries with Sherlock's parents, during which Wolfgang appraised Penny with a hard gaze and she glared back at his cold black eyes stubbornly, they went to the overly large dining room and sat around the table, where a maid brought in a ridiculous amount of food. Sherlock sat Penny between himself and John, tearing up her food into small pieces so she could eat it without much trouble, but John kept a wary eye on her.

"So, boys…how is she doing? Developing normally?" Marissa said after a long silence.

John and Sherlock glanced at each other, "Yes she's doing great, really." John swallowed and smiled, "Just said her first word this morning. 'Dada'. Surprised the hell out of us."

"Her _first_ word? She's a year old and not speaking yet?" Wolfgang snorted and Mycroft made a start to defend Penny, but the man held up his hand to silence his oldest son. "When you boys were her age you were speaking full sentences. You're _quite_ sure she doesn't have any sort of developmental problems, doctor?" he turned a judgmental eye to John, who was flushing.

"_Wolfgang_!" Marissa chastised her husband, smacking his arm. He didn't even flinch.

"Well, she's a Holmes isn't she? Gonna have to start living up to the name."

"Well, actually—" John was cut off as both Sherlock and Mycroft kicked him under the table directly in his bad leg. He yelled out and quickly coughed to cover the sound, realizing his mistake.

Wolfgang looked to his youngest son, "Actually what." His voice was like ice, and Sherlock raised his head a fraction, defiant.

"Her last name is Watson. Not Holmes." He met his father's wolflike gaze head on, placing a long fingered hand on Penny's back.

A red flush was creeping up Wolfgang's pale throat and onto his face, "Why would you do something like that? Are you insistent that this family name will die out?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as if to say "so what if I am?" and Wolfgang slammed his fist against the wooden table. Sherlock didn't so much as flinch, though the others did. He could feel Penny's green eyes on him protectively, and he knew he couldn't back down on this one. "We did it to honor John's father. And Watson is a perfectly respectable name. In case you didn't realize, John is the only son in his family, and if you want more Holmes in the world why don't you pester your favorite on this?" He gestured to Mycroft, who shifted uncomfortably. His father didn't look away from him.

"This family has been in prominent in the pure-blooded community for generations! I was accepting when you told me you were marrying a _man_ but this! You didn't even consult me on this!"

"Consult you? Oh that's rich, as if it was any of your business! You never gave a damn about me or what I did so why care all of a sudden? Don't think I missed the way you mentioned our blood status, the way you keep appraising my daughter as if she were some sort of freak! She is muggle born, father, I'm so sorry that is so _inconvenient _for you and your title in this damn country! If I didn't know better I'd say you were just like those filthy death eaters, just like the monsters who murdered her family. Blood status, you make me sick."

"Don't you dare use that tone of voice with me! You dare suggest I would side with those foolish, horrid _death eaters_? Sometimes I wonder, Sherlock, how you are even my son! Do you really think so low of your father? The man who raised you?" He was standing, his deep voice echoing through the room, and Marissa had a hand over her mouth, eyes wide.

Penny reached up toward Sherlock, who was also standing, hands balled into fists at his side, and John stopped her, pulling her into his lap. Her emerald eyes were wide and frightened. "Dadada…" she whimpered, but Sherlock couldn't look at her, couldn't control the rage inside of him. She turned her gaze to her grandfather, eyes narrowing in a facial expression that was so similar to John's look of anger that it was uncanny. Suddenly she wailed loudly, not as a cry but more of an angry noise, and the flames of the candles shot up three feet in the air. Mycroft, whose eyebrows were nearly seared off, jumped back in surprise, and the whole table was silent, looking at the little girl as she displayed her first bout of magic. This melted Sherlock, who grinned at her, scooping her into his arms. "_That's_ my girl." He whispered to her, and held her close. "Let's go, John." He patted his mother's shoulder and strode from the room, John and Mycroft following right behind them.

"Don't say it." John said as soon as they arrived back in the flat. Sherlock glanced at him in confusion. "Don't say 'I told you so'" he added tiredly, collapsing onto the couch.

"I wasn't going to. None of us would have imagined father to be quite _that_ much of an arse. And anyway, without that spectacularly instructive argument we wouldn't have seen Penny's talent. So I'd consider the dinner a basic success." Sherlock shrugged, moving to set Penny on the floor, but she clung to him. Sighing, he say opposite John with her in his lap.

Mycroft frowned at his brother, "You knew she was a witch since the day we found her, though."

"Well yes, it was obvious by the way she conducted herself, but now she's gone and proven herself. It's a pity we have to wait ten years before she'll be at Hogwarts. She'll be an exceptional witch, of course." He sniffed, glancing at John, who merely rolled his eyes at Sherlock, smiling tiredly.

"Which reminds me," Mycroft said suddenly, pulling out a plain muggle wallet. He reached his hand inside of it, and dug about until his entire arm was in the pouch – expendable charm. He finally pulled out a long parcel and handed it to Sherlock and Penny. It was tied with a blue ribbon. "Happy birthday, Penny dear. I hope you can do it justice." Sherlock helped his daughter open the box; inside was a broomstick that was shrunken for a toddler's use. Penny's eyes were wide as she appraised the gleaming handle, but Sherlock frowned. He hated flying and was rather hoping Penny would pick up on the trait so as to not injure herself.

"Brilliant!" John cried, going to them and lifting the broomstick out of the box. It hovered less than a foot from the ground. He took Penny, ignoring Sherlock's reprimands, and set her lightly on the handle. She wobbled a little, and John held her steady as she floated across the room, laughing manically. Soon she was able to zip around on her own, nearly taking out Sherlock as he attempted to cross into the kitchen. A year old and Penny was already a talented flyer. It was certainly a birthday to remember.

**Please remember to leave me reviews! -xo**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello! I just want to take a moment to thank you for your reviews/favorites/watches. It means a lot. I swear sometimes it's like you guys see straight through me. I have read all of the things you want to see in the course of this story and I will try to accommodate everyone, just note that a lot of this one will be told in flashbacks. I will also be switching from Sherlock/John to Penny at Hogwarts. So continue to leave suggestions and reviews! TO THE FUTURE!**

Chapter 4

"DAD! DADDY! IT'S HERE!" Penelope sprinted down the stairs from her bedroom, thick envelope clutched in her hand. At eleven years old she was already tall, much of the childishness gone from her heart shaped face. Her emerald eyes were wide and expressive, her round little mouth pulled into a dazzling grin as she charged into the kitchen. Sherlock was leaned over one of those muggle science devices, examining something as a cauldron of some brownish goop bubbled beside him. He didn't look up at his daughter, adjusting the focus on his machine. "_Daddy_." She insisted impatiently.

"I heard you, Penelope, but if you are expecting me to jump for joy you are due for disappointment. It's not like this is some sort of surprise." He spoke plainly but she could hear the teasing tone in his voice, see the way his thin lips twitched in the corner. He was trying to frustrate her and it was working.

John came into the room, towel around his neck, just out of the shower. "What's going on?" he asked, looking between the two.

"My letter has arrived and daddy doesn't care _at all._" Her voice was pouty as she showed John the letter. He smirked at her and she winked back, knowing Sherlock wasn't looking. "It isn't _fair_. Ever since daddy's been helping Mr. Weasley in the muggle artifacts division he hasn't paid _any _attention to me." She was laying it on thick, but it worked; Sherlock looked up from his work and to his daughter, frowning with genuine concern. She grinned and showed him the letter, and John laughed at him. She had him wrapped around her fingers and they all knew it.

"Alright then, let's see it…" John said impatiently, leaning against the kitchen counter. Penny ripped open the parchment and pulled out the neatly folded stack of papers, reading aloud:

"HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

_Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. Chf Warlock,_

Supereme Mugwup, International Confed. Of Wizards

Dear Miss Watson,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva Mcgonagall

Deputy Headmistress"

Penny squealed loudly and jumped up and down, her silky curls bouncing. Sherlock had to chuckle at her excitement. He took the next set of pages from the counter and read through her list of materials. The list hadn't changed much since he was a first year. "What house do you think I'll get put in? Oh, I hope it isn't Slytherin. No offense, daddy, but it sounds dreadful."

Sherlock shrugged; he had never had a problem with the house he had been placed in, but he remembered feeling a little sad about not being in Gryffindor with John and their other friends, especially when he and John started dating in their seventh year. "Probably Ravenclaw. Or Gryffindor." Sherlock said after a while, handing John the list of materials. "You're far too clever to be a Hufflepuff. And too nice to be a Slytherin." He smirked and pinched her cheek, turning his attention to the potion on the counter. John didn't even bother asking what it was, he was so used to Sherlock's experiments by now.

Penny looked to John, "Can we go to Diagon next week, dad? Please?"

John frowned; he had the following Friday off of work, but somehow he always seemed to get paged back into the hospital on his off days. It meant good things for his paycheck, but not so much for family time. "Yes, as long as Sherlock doesn't have a case." His husband scoffed and John smiled sadly at him; he had been extremely low on important cases the last few years, which is how he ended up with Arthur in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department, and subsequently right under his big brother's nose. He hated it, and John knew he was itching for the next big murder, for a complicated case to distract him, but so far things had been peaceful. "You'd better go send an owl to Hogwarts, make it official." He smiled at her and she grinned, sprinting up the stairs. As soon as she was gone Sherlock stepped back from the counter, leaning against the wall, pinching the bridge of his nose. John went to him, wrapping his arms around his waist. "I'll miss her too." He whispered.

"How did ten years pass so quickly, John?" Sherlock's voice was sad. He obliged John with a kiss when the shorter man leaned up toward him, but it was evident that his heart wasn't in it.

"We knew this day was coming, Sherlock. You've known it since the day you met her, when you told me she was a witch. We'll be alright…" John laid his head against his chest and sighed. Sherlock could be so sensitive when it came to Penny; thankfully she was still young enough to hero-worship her fathers, but in a morbid way John was looking forward to the rebellious teenager years. Heaven forbid she gets a boyfriend before coming of age. John actually chuckled at the thought, making his husband look down at him inquisitively.

He didn't have a chance to explain, though, as Penny skipped into the room then, giving her fathers a look. She stuck out her tongue at their embrace, but her green eyes smiled. "I am officially a Hogwarts student." She said with an air of superiority, and Sherlock rolled his eyes, giving John a final squeeze before disentangling himself, pulling out his wand to clean up the experiment that dominated their kitchen.

"Not official till you're sorted. What if they put the hat on you and he says 'oh, nope, we've made a mistake, ta ta!' and they send you back home to us?" John grinned teasingly at her and she huffed, crossing her arms.

"Well, _if_ that happens at least daddy will be happy about it." She slid her green eyes to Sherlock, who stiffened. He cursed himself inwardly for teaching her deduction from such an early age; she saw through him like glass.

"I pity the hat that denies you an education." He said simply, turning on his heel and striding into the living room. Soon the agitated notes of his violin were filling the space, and John raised his eyebrows at his daughter, shrugging.

Penny woke them up on Friday morning as if she were a young child on Christmas. She stormed into their bedroom, climbing unceremoniously onto their bed and wiggling her way between their interlocked arms, jostling them both awake. Sherlock groaned and pulled a pillow out and over her, rolling his long arms on top of her so she was pinned to the mattress, and John snorted, rolling onto his side to continue to sleep.

"_Daddy_." Penny whined, struggling to break free.

"Daddy's sleeping." Sherlock muttered, pulling the blanket over his head.

"Go shower and eat, Penny…we'll be down in a little…" John yawned, and she sighed dramatically, making sure to step on both of them as she got up and skipped out into the living room. As soon as the door slammed shut Sherlock snaked his arms around John, pulling his back flush against his chest. John laughed quietly, interlocking his fingers with Sherlock's.

"Do you realize," Sherlock muttered into the blond hair, "That when she goes off to school we will be alone for the first time in more than ten years?" John flushed and nodded, closing his eyes. "I'm rather looking forward to that…" his voice was like velvet and John shuddered delicately.

There was suddenly a _crack_ outside on the street and Sherlock and John sat straight up and bolted out of bed, grabbing the wands beneath their pillows. It was barely six in the morning; anyone who was coming was either doing so because of an emergency, or meant trouble. They sprinted out of the bedroom, John nearly tackling Penny, who was about to flick back the curtain to see who was at the door. He held her still and pointed his wand at the living room door, where Sherlock had just disappeared, his footsteps nearly silent on the steps down to the landing. The sound of the door creaking open was heard.

"John! Get down here!" Sherlock yelled, and John sprinted down the steps to see Remus Lupin nearly passed out and bleeding leaning against Sherlock. Penny, who was right behind him, squealed quietly, eyes wide.

"Penny go get my bag and clear off the couch." He instructed her, suddenly very serious, taking smooth control of the situation. She nodded and ran up the stairs two at a time. John performed a simple levitation spell on Lupin and he and Sherlock helped turn him onto his back, floating him gently up the staircase and onto the couch, where Penny had laid a clean white sheet. Lupin looked horrible, his skin a sickly gray, his white t-shirt stained with the blood seeping from deep cuts on his chest and dripping down his neck from his face. He had bruises and scars on nearly every other surface.

"Sherlock, go get me boiling water and some towels." John said, using his wand to smoothly split the fabric of his shirt, pulling it away to assess the damage. Four long gashes along his chest, same as across his face. Marks from vicious bites along his arms. It looked like an animal attack, but John knew better. He pulled out a little bottle of green liquid from his bag and dripped it along the wounds, which hissed violently but began to knit themselves shut. Lupin clenched his teeth, attempting to not cry out, though he failed when it came to the cuts along his face. When Sherlock returned he used the moist towels to clean off the blood, assessing the now pink, fresh scars along his body. "Jesus, Remus. What if I hadn't been home?" John said with a sigh.

Lupin took a deep, shuttering breath, gingerly sitting himself up and assessing his bruises, "Checked your work schedule before I left. Couldn't very well go into St. Mungo's like this, could I? Raise too much suspicion."

"What exactly happened?" John said, looking at Remus with a mix of concern and impatience.

"Obvious." Both Penny and Sherlock said at the same time, and Lupin and John turned to look at them with exasperation.

"Clearly he was underground, by the pallor of his skin…" Penny started.

"Most likely with the werewolf clans…" Sherlock added

"On Dumbledore's orders…"

"Trying to recruit them to the cause…"

"But the full moon was last night…"

"Pissed off the wrong wolf…"

"A young one, judging by how sloppy the marks are…"

"An experienced one would have killed you…"

"But it was sunrise when it happened and you couldn't defend yourself, as you had transformed already…"

"So you apparated straight here, no time to contact us with a patronus…"

"And you almost did miss us. We're leaving to Diagon Alley soon." Penny finished, crossing her arms smugly.

"Are you _quite_ finished?" John huffed, looking between the two. God she was so like Sherlock sometimes. Lupin was grinning though, clearly amused.

"You trained her well, didn't you Holmes? I pity her future boyfriends. Poor saps will never get away with anything." Lupin leaned back against the couch. "And you were spot on, of course, but you should see the other guy." He winked at John, who sighed.

"Are you suggesting that any boy would try to deceive my daughter?" Sherlock said in a tight voice, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Oh calm down there mother bear, it was a joke." Lupin smirked at him and John chuckled, patting him gently on the shoulder.

"Tea?" he asked, standing.

"Please." Lupin replied, turning to Penny, "So…Diagon Alley, huh? Going to get your Hogwarts supplies?"

Penny grinned, "Yes. And my wand." She felt excitement bubble inside of her at the thought. She was _finally_ going to be able to do proper magic, not just make things explode or disappear with her mind.

"Well, good luck to you. Hogwarts was the best years of my life…" he felt that old twang of sadness as he remembered James, Sirius, and Peter. "Speaking of," he said as John re-entered the room with the tea, "I went to go visit Sirius before I went underground."

John shot him a warning look; they didn't like discussing such things in front of Penny, even though they knew the girl would have gotten information about it anyway. It was frustrating, having Sherlock be so open with her about the Order. The Weasley's younger children didn't even know what it was. "And how was he…" John said after a pause.

"Oh, raving of course. It's such a horrible place, especially when you don't deserve to be there…" he sighed.

"You still think him innocent, then?" Sherlock asked, sitting on his armchair with his hands steepled together.

"Yes, of course. He's my best friend. Would you ever stop believing in John, if our roles were reversed?" Lupin took a sip of his tea and Sherlock frowned. No, he would always trust John, just as John would always trust him. He supposed love was funny that way. It knew no boundaries or deceits, only a blind faith. They sat in silence until Lupin finally felt rested enough to move about, and he wished them luck on their shopping trip, apparating away again.

**Sorry this one was so dialogue-y. Please leave me reviews!**

**-xo**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Right. You lot ready then?" John said, pulling on a jumper and looking to his dark-haired companions. Sherlock was tying an emerald scarf around himself, and Penny seemed about ready to pop with excitement. John had to laugh a little at her; that was the downside, he supposed, to her having them as fathers. They both despised shopping, though she loved it.

Sherlock grabbed the list of supplies from the coffee table, stuffing it in his pocket, "We are sticking to the list, got it?" He said, as though reading John's mind, "No flitting around looking at shoes or broomsticks or other senseless things." Penny's lips pulled into a pout, but she nodded. Sherlock gestured to the fireplace, where she grabbed a handful of floo powder from John. Within moments they were standing inside the Leaky Cauldron. No one in the nearly-empty bar so much as glanced at them as they made their way single-file out into the courtyard and through the gates into Diagon alley.

The narrow alleyway was packed with students and their parents, shopkeepers and stand owners shouting out various deals and prices. The three instantly formed their typical line: John in the front, as he tended to piss of the least amount of people in a crowd, Penny in the middle, and Sherlock taking up the rear. They weaved through the people, headed straight for Gringotts. "This is ridiculous." Sherlock muttered as they stepped through the marble entryway. "Next time we should just apparate to Knockturn."

John rolled his eyes, "Sherlock just because you are comfortable there among all those horrible shops doesn't mean it is appropriate to take your family there." He sighed at the look of confusion that crossed his husbands face, and Penny giggled.

"It's not _that_ bad, dad." She said, tossing her curls over her shoulder.

"It's not—wait how do _you_ know?" he flushed, glaring at Sherlock.

"What? I needed to purchase things and I wasn't very well going to leave her home alone." He raised an eyebrow at John, who didn't have time to reply, as they were at the front desk of the bank. They followed a goblin into the depths of the bank, John fuming the entire time. When they got to their vault Penny was struck, as she always was when they were here, at how much _money_ her parents had. Just as much as Mycroft, certainly, but they hardly spent it at all; they didn't even live in a proper house, just a little flat in the middle of a muggle section of London. Penny had always felt it was Sherlock's way of distancing himself from his family, as her grandparents were extravagant and Mycroft always dressed in designer clothes. That and it probably was more comfortable for John, who had little money growing up.

They left the bank in silence, blinking in the sunlight as they returned onto the street. Penny, sensing that her father was still mad, smoothly clutched onto John's elbow. He melted almost instantly, smiling down at her. "Can we go to Ollivander's first? Please?" she asked anxiously, and John nodded, leading her away without a glance at his husband, who followed in silence, smirking. Penny was clever, nearly as clever as he had been at her age, the difference was that she was charming, too. She knew the human heart as well as he knew the mind, a product of being raised by himself and John. It struck Sherlock, as it often did, how little blood relation really had to do with a person; sure her parents had blessed her with a quick mind and easygoing temperament, but everything else was learned in infancy, from the way she spoke to the way she walked. It was amazing, really.

They got to the darkened wand shop, John pulling open the door for both of them, though he shot Sherlock another scathing look as he strode past him. Mr. Ollivander's clear eyes blinked up at them as they entered, his eyes sliding to John and Sherlock.

"Mr. Holmes," he said slowly, by way of greeting, "willow, twelve and a half inches, phoenix feather core…"

"As sharp as always, Mr. Ollivander." Sherlock replied, his voice laced in respect; not everyone had such an ample memory.

"And Mr. Watson, elm, thirteen inches, dragon heartstring…Still serving you well, I presume?" John smiled and nodded, placing a hand on Penny's shoulder. She was looking at the old man with a mix of fear and curiosity. "This must be your daughter. You boys can have a seat, this may take some time…" he went into the back of the shop and there was a sound of shuffling boxes. Penny, looking startled, glanced at her fathers, who went to sit on the bench seat along the wall of the shop. The two grinned at her, leaning back to watch as Ollivander came back with half a dozen black boxes, setting them on the front desk. He handed her one and snatched it back nearly instantly, and John chuckled.

_"The wand chooses the wizard_," _Ollivander had said. John, short and round-faced at eleven years old, had been handed him nearly a dozen short, thin little wands before Ollivander realized the boy in front of him was not what he seemed. When he brought him the elm wand and the room glowed brightly as soon as contact was made, it was evident that John Watson was a protector at heart._

_ Sherlock Holmes had been a completely different sort. His elder brother's wand was not made for heavy-duty work, it was whippy and good for charms, but not a warrior's wand at all. Sherlock had come in, his arrogant brother at his side, and was almost instantly connected to the willow wand. An intellect, but a strong one, nearly the polar of Watson, but a compliment as well._

Ollivander handed Penny a series of wands, nearly blowing holes in the walls with some failed attempts. It must have been harder, Sherlock decided, for muggle-borns and adopted children, because he couldn't use their parents as a reference point. Finally, he handed her a pale vinewood wand, and its tip glowed brilliantly on contact. She grinned triumphantly and her fathers gave a muted applause. "11 inches, vinewood and unicorn tail." Ollivander said quietly, packing up his boxes, "A clever wand." Penny knit her eyebrows together at the personification but otherwise said nothing, examining the vines carved intricately into the pale handle. Sherlock stood and paid Ollivander, following them out of the shop, John giving Penny a lecture about how important it was to take care of it, don't lose it, don't leave it lying around, don't tuck it into the waist of her pants, and so on, and she and Sherlock rolled their eyes. They continued their shopping, getting her books and robes without much fuss. Penny snatched the list from Sherlock, green eyes scanning over it hungrily.

"Daddy, can I get a kitten?" She asked excitedly, looking up at him.

"Absolutely not, you are getting an owl." He said plainly, and John stared at him, startled. Sherlock rarely said no to Penny, especially over something so miniscule.

"But…I don't want an _owl._" She insisted, "I wanted a kitten. Like Hudson."

"Kittens cannot send letters home. You are getting an owl." Sherlock didn't look at her, his tone final. John had to sigh; of course Sherlock wouldn't allow her a cat, an owl of her own meant more letters. He was genuinely upset about her leaving. It was rather touching, really.

Sherlock swept inside the Owl Emporium and John leaned over to Penny, "Use your new owl to send a letter to Uncle Mycroft, he'll buy you a kitten." He whispered, and she giggled into her hand, following Sherlock into the dark and musty shop. Taking up much of the shop was a giant of a man with a wild mane of black hair. John grinned when he saw him, "Hagrid! How are you?"

Hagrid turned slowly around and smiled at them, "Oh hullo John, Sherlock, and Penny too! Havn't see you in quite some time. Hogwarts shopping I suppose?" Penny nodded shyly at the big man.

"Where is he?" Sherlock asked quietly, and his family looked at him in confusion.

"Ollivanders, gittin his wand. I'm buying him a gift, see. An owl." He held up the cage in his hand, where a snowy owl blinked lazily at them.

"Sorry, who?" John asked, looking between them.

"Harry Potter, of course. Why else would Hagrid be here but to escort him?" Sherlock glanced at John and then back to Hagrid.

"No point gittin anything past you, is there Holmes?" Hagrid chuckled, "He's a good boy…lot like…like James. But he's kind, like Lilly…good boy." His voice was laced with emotion, and John's eyes cast downward. It was still hard to believe they were gone, even after ten years. "Well…better be gettin' back. Nice seeing you boys, and I'll see you at school, Penny." He smiled sadly at them and lumbered out of the shop.

By the time they got back to the flat they were laden with packages, and Penny had a little pygmy owl whom she dubbed as Doyle. They brought up her stuff to her room and then retired to the living room, letting her pack her trunk in peace. John sat the far end of the couch, reading the Prophet in silence. Sherlock unceremoniously plopped onto the couch beside him, laying his head on John's lap, eyes closed. John didn't say anything, he knew Sherlock was sad to see her go, and that there was nothing they could do about it. He ran a free hand through the dark curls, blue eyes scanning the page in front of it without actually reading anything.

September the first dawned much sooner than any of them really cared for it to. Sherlock hadn't slept at all, though John was able to get a few fitful hours. By the time the sun had risen they were all standing around the living room, fidgeting nervously. A knock came on the door and Mycroft let himself into the flat, a medium sized box in his hands. It was wrapped in silver with a large blue bow; Ravenclaw colors. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

Penny took the box and set it on the ground, carefully opening it. Inside was a little white kitten with dark blue eyes. She nearly popped, running and hugging her uncle in her excitement before lifting the little cat out of her box, cooing at it. Sherlock glared at his brother, "She's already got a pet." He snapped.

"Yes. She sent me a letter saying you wouldn't buy her a cat. So I took the liberty of doing so." Mycroft smirked at him.

"How dare you undermine my control. She's only allowed one pet, and she's got an owl. You had no business getting involved. And _you_…" he whipped around to glare at Penny, who was looking up at him with wide eyes, clutching the cat protectively, "You should not have gone running off to Mycroft because I told you no. I'm very disappointed." She sighed and nodded.

"Oh don't be so hard on her. I sent a few owls. Some people at Hogwarts owe me favors. They won't give her trouble." He checked his watch, "Speaking of, we should be going. The car's out front."

Penny stood, looking one last time around the flat, knowing she wouldn't see it again until the winter holidays. Finally she lifted her rucksack and Doyle's cage, kitten cradled in her free arm, and followed her uncle out onto the street below, John and Sherlock carrying her trunk by hand so as to avoid muggle suspicion. Parked on the street was a shiny black limousine. Sherlock groaned at the ostentatious vehicle; Mycroft couldn't help showing off, even with muggle contraptions. They climbed into the car in silence, Sherlock's foot bouncing nervously until John placed a hand on his knee, calming him.

The drive to Kings Cross was much too short, and soon they were climbing out of the back of Mycroft's car and into the sunlight. Mycroft said goodbye to his niece, who thanked him again for the kitten, and he drove off. The three of them turned with her and placed her things on a cart, entering the station. Penny nearly sprinted through the barrier onto 9 ¾, her fathers following after her. The platform was crowded with parents and students and carts of luggage. They found a relatively quiet corner and John pulled her into a tight hug, his voice thick, "Right. You be good, and write every week or this one will drive me mad," he glanced at Sherlock and then back at her, "We're so _proud_ of you Penny." He kissed her forehead and stepped aside so Sherlock could kneel in front of her. Her green eyes were welled with tears.

"You do us proud, alright?" Sherlock said quietly. She nodded and hugged him tightly, sniffling.

"'bye, Daddy…bye Dad…" she whimpered, wiping her face and hugging both of them one last time before turning and climbing onto the train. Sherlock grasped John's hand, surprising him with how hard he was squeezing. He hadn't seen him so emotionally upheaved since their wedding.

They apparated from the platform directly to their living room in silence, hands still linked. As soon as they were home Sherlock's walls fell and his lips were hard against John's, hands clutching the smaller man's body with desperation as they fell against the couch. John was startled, but accepted the sudden bout of passion. He knew Sherlock needed to be distracted or he was going to lose it, and as his jumper was pulled violently off and the thin lips peppered his chest and throat he decided that this would be a much more appealing distraction than violin until late into the night and explosions from his kitchen as Sherlock failed at some potion or another. Their daughter was gone and the flat was empty and Sherlock was crazed and emotional and yet everything seemed, as it usually did with Sherlock, to be perfect.

**Please leave comments and reviews. –xo **


	6. Chapter 6

**To the reviewer who caught my mistake on the bar names in the last chapter: five points to you! I fixed it right away. You guys keep me sharp. I'm gonna let all my fluffy angst out on this chapter so…fair warning.**

John lay his cheek against Sherlock's bare chest, his heart thudding against his ear rhythmically. He sighed as Sherlock lifted the cigarette to his thin lips and exhaled a strand of smoke. "_Must _you?" John frowned, Sherlock rarely smoked anymore, especially not in front of his husband, who hated the habit. Sherlock gave a noncommittal hum, resonating in his chest, and John rolled his eyes, tracing indistinct patterns along the pale skin below him. It was dark now, John realized. Penny would be sorted any moment now, as her last name put her low down on the alphabet. Probably a nervous wreck, already seen most of the others get sorted. John smiled to himself.

Those first nights in the castle had always been the most fun. Seven welcoming feasts, though he had only been there to participate in six of them. His eyes glanced up at Sherlock's face, which was blank and calm, eyes closed, and he grinned at the memory of their seventh year.

_It had been the longest summer of John's life, that one, mostly because he had chosen the train ride home on the last day of their sixth year to tell Sherlock that he had fallen for the man. They had written each other the entire summer, and since they were both of age had been able to apparate to different places in the middle of the night when their parents would not be able to question or stop them, but it was still hard, not seeing Sherlock every day, not being able to simply go to him with a question or when he felt lonely. Then, of course, he had been made a prefect, meaning that he hardly got to see his boyfriend on the train to Hogwarts. Sherlock was patient, more patient than John, and didn't complain or pout. When they arrived at the castle and John had helped corral the first years into the antechamber to await sorting, he had felt the long fingers wrap around his wrist on his way to the Great Hall, and the two had escaped to an abandoned stairwell on the far side of the castle. _

_John couldn't remember seeing him look as mischievous before as he lifted John onto a windowsill just above them on the stairs so they were level, pulling him by his tie to his face, kissing him without much reservation or embarrassment. John had been flustered, of course, by the sudden passion Sherlock was exhibiting, but it was hard to fight such a level of commitment. He kissed him back, biting gently on Sherlock's lip, enjoying the resulting gasp from his partner. "Sherlock…"John had whispered after several long moments of intense kissing, "We are missing dinner. And I'm a prefect, I have duties." _

_Sherlock scoffed against the underside of John's chin, kissing it repeatedly, "I'm sure the school will survive." He murmured._

"_I'm serious…" John struggled the push Sherlock away, trapped in the window as he was. "There are rules I'm supposed to be setting an example for." _

"_Rules." Sherlock scoffed again, hand flat against John's shoulder, working his lips up the side of John's face, "How dull." His voice whispered low and deadly in his ear, and John shuddered as his breath tickled the sensitive area. _

The memory of it made a blush creep up on John's face; fifteen years later the thought of sneaking around the castle snogging Sherlock Holmes was still deeply arousing to John. Sherlock lifted his head minutely, feeling his husband's body tense and his heart flutter out of nowhere. He lifted a brow to him, inquisitive, but John just shook his head, smirking. Sherlock sat up a little so as to get a better look at him. "Are you fantasizing about someone else?" he asked, curiosity and jealousy mixing so plainly in his tone that John burst into laughter.

"Of course not, idiot." He rolled his eyes, and Sherlock looked even more confused, giving John a small sense of satisfaction. He liked throwing Sherlock off, it made him feel a bit better about being so obviously outside of his husband's mental league.

"Then…why the sudden arousal?" he frowned, taking one last drag from his cigarette before stamping it out on the ashtray on the table. He was sitting now, and John sighed, nestling himself in his lap, pulling the sheet over their bodies up to his chin, laying his head back on his favorite spot over Sherlock's heart.

"Do you remember our last first day at Hogwarts?" he said finally, giving in. Sherlock hummed in understanding, his heart fluttering under John's head. Of course he remembered, it was the first time he and John had been truly intimate, even though they did nothing more than kiss. "You hadn't even taken me out on a proper date yet."

Sherlock laughed, "You realize that you bring those gender stereotypes onto yourself with statements like that, right? No wonder everyone calls you the wife in this relationship. You were perfectly within your means to take _me_ out on a date."

John scoffed, "Who says I'm the wife here? That is hardly justified. I was the one who told _you _that I liked you!"

"As wives often do." Sherlock was grinning, clearly amused. "And I asked you to marry me. Instant husband status." He lifted John's left hand, examining the thick golden band there, smiling. John scoffed and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's thin waist, not bothering to argue with him. He knew people talked about them, but after being with Sherlock for so long he had found that he didn't much care. John's main priority was his family, and everyone else could piss off.

They were quiet for a long while, Sherlock rubbing his long fingered hands along John's back. Their scars were more prominent, unclothed as they were. John's leg still bore the shiny pink burns, Sherlock's hands equally damaged. In a way those scars were what brought them together, the fire from which Sherlock saved John the first real test of their friendship. Since that day Sherlock had never felt alone, and he was grateful to John for that, but since letting Penny into his already timid heart, he found that the thought of not seeing her the next day made him ache with loneliness. "Do you have to go to work tomorrow…?" Sherlock asked, his voice muttering in the blond hair.

John sat up to look at him, his blue eyes stern, "Oh no, don't you start with that Sherlock. You've got a job, you can't go wallow into depression just because Penny isn't around to hang on your every word." Sherlock sniffed, indignant, but he didn't say anything. "I'm serious, Sherlock. You better not start acting like a little lost child."

He raised a dark brow at him, "A child, am I?" Swift as a cat, Sherlock rolled John so he was under him on the couch, leaning on his forearms on either side of John's head so that their bodies were pressed lightly together. John laughed nervously as Sherlock pressed his thin, Cupid's bow lips to the underside of his jaw. Sherlock smirked at the resulting groan; John was so predictable sometimes, though in this situation Sherlock appreciated it. It was nice, knowing exactly where to place his lips to drive John insane.

"Should we…?"John struggled under Sherlock, eyes flitting to the bedroom door.

Sherlock grinned, "No. We've got the flat to ourselves for the first time in years and I damn well am going to take advantage of it." He crashed his lips against Johns, effectively ending any retort.

The coffee wasn't working. Sherlock yawned for what seemed the hundredth time that morning, ruffling his curls as he plopped into the desk chair. The tiny office was packed with boxes, some of which would rattle suddenly as its contents shuffled angrily, but Sherlock was alone. Arthur had gone off to some muggle shop to collect some sort enchanted watch, leaving Sherlock to figure out the spell that was making the tea kettle in front of him snap at anyone who tried to grab it as if it had lobster claws. It was tedious, as it was obviously some sort of transfiguration spell, but Sherlock's job was to figure out who did it. He didn't much care, really; he didn't blame people for getting bored, and this was clearly the work of a mischievous young wizard, not a murderer, but still it was better than moping about the flat. The box next to him rattled again and he scowled at it, "Oh shut up." He muttered, kicking the box lightly. The rattling stopped.

"You look like hell…" Sherlock looked up to see Remus Lupin, disheveled as always, standing in the doorway. His eyes glazed across him; dark circles under his eyes, fresh shirt, two day old pants, and a robe haphazardly thrown on to block out the cold.

"So do you. Date tonight?" He gestured to Arthur's empty chair before steepling his fingertips together.

Lupin blushed, "No, nothing like that. I'm going to go oversee the auror training…but I thought I'd stop by to talk to your brother first."

"He's abroad." Sherlock eyed him, trying to not be annoyed. He hated when people went to him only after finding his brother useless.

"Well, yeah, I realized that. Which is why I'm here…I was wondering if you could re-open a case for me." Lupin didn't meet Sherlock's eyes, but it was obvious what he was getting at.

"Remus, that case was closed the day it happened. Locked away. I didn't even get a chance to look at it, though I wish I had…" Sherlock frowned at him. Lupin wanted him to look back into Sirius, obviously, but why? Something had clearly changed.

"I know that. I was hoping your brother…well, anyway…I know it's foolish, but I'm afraid he's going to do something drastic." Lupin buried his head in his hands, groaning.

"You went to see him…" Sherlock leaned back, suddenly thankful for the distraction from the stupid tea kettles.

"Yeah, well, I try to go once a month but…he's not well, Sherlock. Kept muttering to himself about a plan, but when I asked what the plan was he wouldn't tell me, said it wasn't safe for me to know." Lupin lifted his head but continue to stare at his rough palms. "He still says he's innocent…I trusted him blindly before, refusing to believe otherwise, but it's been ten years. He's been there for ten years, and if you were guilty, and you knew you were guilty, would you keep up the pretenses of being innocent for ten years? Especially when you knew your case was sealed?" He looked up to Sherlock, who was staring into the corner of the room, thinking.

Remus did have a point. Sirius's case was closed, he didn't have a hope of being released, and in fact no one even really mentioned his name anymore outside of the Order. He'd been to Azkaban to question people for cases dozens of times, it was a horrid place, and the amount of dementors floating around literally sucked the happiness out of the island. He knew he wouldn't keep up the pretenses of innocence after ten years, and he had much more patience than Sirius had. Sirius obviously believed himself innocent, and whether or not he was, that drive could be extremely dangerous. He glanced at the disheveled man in front of him and nodded, "I'll…see what I can do."

Lupin smiled a little sadly at Sherlock, who stifled another yawn. "You alright?" he asked after a while, eyeing Sherlock carefully.

"Yes, of course. Just tired." He stood, turning his attention to the kettle suddenly, attempting to avoid awkward questions as to why he would be tired. He wasn't embarrassed about his relationship but John, but he knew John would be.

"Long night? I bet it was hard, saying bye to Penny." Lupin chuckled, looking thoughtfully at Sherlock. "I tell you, when John said you boys were going to adopt her, a lot of us had our doubts. You turned out a much better father than any of us expected."

Sherlock frowned, knowing there was some amount of insult in that compliment, but he looked to Lupin, "I didn't have very high expectations of myself either, really. Well, you've met my brother; he's a more tolerable version of our father. Not like I had great paternal role models." He sighed, shaking his head. "I'd probably be a lot like him, if it weren't for Penny and John…" he said the last part in a near whisper, running a hand through his hair.

Lupin smiled understandingly at him, clapping a hand on his shoulder, "You're a good man, Holmes. And thank you, for agreeing to look at Sirius's case…" Sherlock nodded and watched as Remus turned and left the office, headed toward the elevator to go to the Auror training center.

**Next chapter will be Penny. Hope you didn't mind my failed attempt at writing sexy things. Leave me reviews -xo**


	7. Chapter 7

**I've been getting so many favorites/follows, so hello to you all! I love reviews *wink wink*, even if they're short. Here is Penny's chapter! Hope you all like it.**

**Chapter 7**

_Alright, Watson, don't be an idiot._ Penny thought to herself, hoisting her rucksack higher up on her shoulders. The little kitten inside shifted in panic with the movement but Penny otherwise ignored her. She held Doyle's cage carefully in front of her as she wound her way through the throngs of students on the train, looking for at least a somewhat familiar face. The older kids ignored her as plainly as she ignored them, and for that she was grateful; Sherlock and Mycroft had been in the papers enough through the years, it wouldn't take much for people to recognize her family. She once again counted her blessings of having Holmes as a middle name, and Watson as her last. She was clever, but too much attention made her feel awkward and uncomfortable.

She had nearly walked straight past the compartment, barely catching a glance of the round-faced boy within as the train set into motion. She sighed in relief and gently pulled open the door; there were two other girls with him, first years by the look of them. "Do you mind if I join you?" she asked tentatively, looking at Neville Longbottom, who instantly flushed.

"P-Penny! Hi! Yes, come in, we were just introducing ourselves." Neville stammered, slightly red-faced. She smiled and entered the compartment, carefully shutting the door before putting Doyle up on the shelf above them and setting her rucksack on the floor by her feet as she sat. She looked up at the other two girls: one had a mass of fluffy, dirty blond hair and a smug expression. Her clothes were bought from a muggle shop, and she kept a grip on her wand despite the fact that none of them really knew how to use it. Muggle-born, clearly. The other had long, pale blond hair and wide blue eyes that stared off into the distance dreamily, a vague smile on her face. She was harder to read, Penny realized, or maybe she was just vague to begin with.

"You two know eachother?" the muggle-born girl asked, raising a brow at Neville, who nodded.

"Yes our…uhm…parents know each other." Neville muttered, lowering his eyes, and Penny frowned. John was still Neville's parents head doctor, but she'd hardly seen Neville outside of the hospital when both of them went to visit their parents; her, more often than not, to have lunch with John, or to tag along with Sherlock when he needed to consult him about something, Neville to see the poor, mad shell of a couple that was once his family. The girl slid her brown eyes from Neville to Penny in confusion.

"I'm Penny, Penny Holmes Watson." She said quickly, avoiding a question, sticking out her small, dainty hand. The girl took it and shook.

"Hermione Granger. Did you say Holmes? As in, Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes?" Her face lit up with the discovery, and Penny's stomach dropped. So it began. She sighed and nodded. "I've read all about them. What's your relationship to them?"

Penny raised an eyebrow, "Sherlock's my dad."

"Oh," Hermione blinked, obviously surprised, "I didn't know he had any children. Or that he was married for that matter."

Penny sighed; she and John so often flew under the radar, especially when standing in Sherlock's shadow after some big case he'd cracked. "He's been married to my dad John for nearly fifteen years, and they adopted me when I was a baby. My parents were killed by you-know-who's followers." She swallowed and leaned back against the plush seat, deciding now was the best time as any to get out the truth before rumors started. She wasn't in any way ashamed of her parents, and her fathers had always been very honest with her about her birth parents. The truth was she didn't really care much about them; of course she often wondered what they were like, how much of them came out in her, but she had had John and Sherlock since infancy. They had taught her to read and write and walk and talk, and to her those things meant much more than the blood in her veins.

"Are you quite sure you were adopted?" the other girl asked suddenly, wide eyes on Penny, who blinked at her, not sure if she was kidding. "My daddy did some research on creatures that come from other planets disguised as wizards who bear children, only they don't know gender distinction, so it's very possible for two seemingly human men to procreate."

Hermione snorted, biting her fist to keep from laughing, and Penny cleared her throat, "I'm, uh, quite sure, thanks. Sorry, I didn't get your name…"

"Luna." The girl said with another vague smile, not offering her hand. Penny glanced at Neville, who had regained some amount of control over himself and shrugged.

"Do you have a surname, Luna?" Penny pressed, her hands folding together subconsciously in front of her face.

"Yes, of course." Luna replied calmly, taking a magazine from her bag. "The Quibbler" the cover proclaimed on the front in brightly colored letters.

"Well…what is it?" Penny fought a smirk. She liked this Luna girl; she was odd, but not in a show-offy way.

"Lovegood. Luna Lovegood." Luna rang, opening up the magazine and turning her attention to it.

Penny laughed quietly, shaking her head before turning to the other two, "So what do your parents do, then?" she asked of Hermione, who straightened, obviously eager to have someone to talk about herself to.

"My parents are dentists. Muggles, you know." She shifted her weight in her seat, uncomfortable.

"Yes, I know." Penny replied before stopping herself. _Stupid, what did daddy always say about letting people know you're deducing them?_ Hermione looked taken aback.

"What do you mean, you know?" She asked, and Nevile cleared his throat, moving to look out the window. He knew perfectly well how Penny and Sherlock were able to look at a person and know their entire life story.

"I, uhm, know that you're muggle born. Not the bit about the dentists. That's neat, by the way. Dad's a healer, but he knows a lot of muggle medical stuff too." She was trying to change the subject, but Hermione was quick-witted, that much was obvious.

"How could you possibly know that?" She scoffed, crossing her arms. It was clear she didn't believe Penny, and Penny's stubborn nature nagged until finally she sighed, giving in.

"You're wearing muggle-made clothes, not a dead give-away but it means you don't live in a wizard community. Your bag there, on the floor, is open. I can see you have books that aren't required for our lessons, including _Hogwarts: A History_. If you had wizard parents you wouldn't need that book for anything other than research, but you've obviously read through it multiple times because many of the pages are dog-earred, probably marked with notes on the pages as well. You keep your wand in your hand whenever possible, and when you set it down to pick something else up you keep glancing at it. You could be concerned that it will get lost or broken but you seem to be a fairly careful person of average intelligence, which means you keep tabs on it because you are most likely concerned that this is some sort of dream, which, for the record, it is not." Penny leaned back, smug smirk on her face at the mix of shock and awe on Hermione's face.

"How did you…" she shook her head quickly, as if clearing water out of it, "Of course. Deduction. Sherlock's trademark." Neville chuckled, glancing at Penny, who shrugged.

"How do you know so much about my dad anyway?" Penny asked after a pause, "He hasn't been in the papers much in years…not since the fall of you-know-who."

Hermione flushed a light pink, "Well when I came across mention of you-know-who I did some digging, found old articles, you know."

"How resourceful…" Penny grumbled, turning her attention to her bag. She leaned down and scooped the little kitten out of it, setting the tiny thing in her lap. Hermione's eyes slid from the cat to the owl.

"You aren't allowed two pets." She said haughtily, crossing her arms. Penny gave her a scathing look but otherwise ignored her, scratching the cat under her small chin.

"Oh, she's lovely. What's her name?" Luna asked, setting down her magazine and scooting to sit next to Penny, letting the cat sniff her hand before petting her.

"I was thinking Mary. But I only just got her, she was a going away gift from my _uncle_." She shot a look to Hermione, whom she was sure would pick up on what she was trying to say. Mycroft's name was often more highly regarded than the minister's, considering it was he that usually cleaned up government messes. She realized she was abusing her uncle's power, but at this moment she didn't much care. The girl was annoying to say the least.

She and Luna played with Mary for a long while, no one saying anything, when Neville suddenly ripped open his bag, digging through it desperately, checking his pockets. "Oh no, not again." He groaned, and the girls looked up at him confusedly, "I've lost my toad, Trevor. He must have jumped out of my pocket. Merlin's beard, I hope he's on the train." His eyes looked panicked, and Penny and Hermione instantly stood up.

"I'll go look for him." Hermione said at the same time as Penny. They looked at each other disdainfully, scowling. Penny took Mary out of her lap and set her gently in Luna's. "Will you watch her for me?" she asked, and Luna smiled and nodded, stroking the white fur. Penny followed Hermione out of the compartment, neither of them speaking unless to ask someone if they had seen the toad.

They went to a compartment that was nearly empty aside from two boys, one of which had his wand pointed to a rat in his lap. The boy had shocking red hair and his clothes were worn; Penny recognized him as one of the Weasley kids, as she had seen photos of her fathers, usually John, with other members of the Order, but she'd never met any of Arthur's children, so she wasn't sure what his name was. The other had messy, jet-black hair and glasses that were held together with tape. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but she didn't know what.

"Has anyone seen a toad?" Hermione asked, sounded exasperated. At this point finding Trevor was proving to be impossible, "A boy named Neville's lost one." She added.

The Weasley boy looked at her like she was mad, "No…" he answered, and the black-haired boy shook his head.

"Oh, are you going to do magic? Let's see then." Hermione put her hands on her hips, waiting expectedly, and Penny rolled her eyes at her tone, crossing her arms and leaning in the doorway. Ron said a ridiculous little rhyme, jabbing his wand in the direction of his rat. There was a little puff of smoke but the creature stayed the same. Hermione scoffed, "Are you sure that's a real spell? Well, it's not very good, is it?" She then proceeded to brag about how she had been practicing a few spells, and pointed her wand at the black-haired boy's face, making Penny stand straight, fearful. Everyone knew not to point a wand right at someone's head, it was common sense. She did a spell that repaired the broken frames, and the boy looked extremely pleased, grinning as he looked at them. Penny rolled her eyes once more.

Hermione looked at him with wide eyes, "_You're_ Harry Potter!" she exclaimed, and the boy looked up at her with surprise that matched the one on Penny's. _Of course_, she knew she should have recognized him. How many times had she seen the photo that Lupin kept on his desk at the Auror's office, or the images of James Potter in the Order photos? He was a spitting image of his father, really. "I'm Hermione Granger," she added, interrupting Penny's revere, "and…you are?" she turned to the other boy with a look of slight disgust and obvious superiority, and Penny felt herself ruffle a little; this girl was so _conceited_.

"Ron Weasley." He mumbled, looking to Harry, who shrugged. Both boys turned their gazes to Penny, who cleared her throat.

"Sorry. Penny Watson. My dad works with yours, Ron." She smiled kindly at them, using every ounce of her will to not shoot a glare at Granger.

"Oh! Sherlock's daughter. I haven't met you yet, I don't think." He held out his hand, which she shook. Harry did the same.

"Well," Hermione stood, obviously sick of being left out of their friendly greeting, "You two better put on your robes, I suspect we'll be arriving soon." She strode out and Penny gave one last wave before following her. Hermione turned back around and stuck her head into her compartment to say one last thing, but Penny kept walking, not waiting for her. When she got back into the compartment she changed into her house-neutral robes, knowing that by the end of the night she'd trade her black tie for a colored one. The thought made her stomach flutter in anticipation and excitement.

**I love being an ass to some of these characters. Hermione/Penny frenemies! Whee! Please leave reviews! -xo**

**EDIT: I've gotten a couple of notes on Luna. I upped her age intentionally, it isn't a mistake :) Also, I stuck to the films more than the book in the Hermione exchange, mostly because I don't live at home anymore and I don't have the books on me to research small things. Don't shoot me! **


	8. Chapter 8

**Hey guys, I made an edit on the AN on the last chapter, but I'll remind ya'll again: I changed a few things. It's a crossover fic, it isn't going to be exactly true to the book. This reading will go a lot smoother if you take my word as gospel. *winking face* that being said I appreciate your reviews and all the positive feedback I've received in this fic! Here's John/Sherlock's chapter, featuring more FLASHBACKS! Yay. **

John was beginning to get worried. Although, his worry was directed toward his husband, who in turn was worried about something completely different; he had come home early for the first time in weeks and had found the tall man pacing agitatedly through the flat, smoking what seemed like a chain of cigarettes, based on the number of butts in the ashtray on the table. He was muttering angrily, so distracted that he didn't even acknowledge John as he came into the flat. Sighing, John took the nearly empty box of cigarettes and threw it in the trash, walked to Sherlock and snatched the half-finished one from his hand, and dumped out the ashtray before taking the bin outside.

"Why did you do that?" Sherlock said irritably when John came back inside.

"You're going to kill yourself with that ridiculous muggle habit." John shot back, going to the kitchen to make himself some tea.

"But you're a doctor…" he heard Sherlock mumble, sounding a bit like a reprimanded child. "Why are you home, anyway?"

"Last two appointments got cancelled, and not much I can do for Frank and Alice, so I went home." John called back, looking into the icebox. "Sherlock, you were supposed to do the shopping." He groaned and took the tea into their living room. Sherlock was sitting on the couch, his long legs somehow managing to curl under him so that he was folded into the seat, arms crossed petulantly.

"Three days. It's been _three days_, John. Why hasn't she sent us a letter yet?" Sherlock muttered irritably, unable to keep his hands still. He reached for his violin but was stopped by a dirty look from John.

"She'll send one. She's not irresponsible, she's probably busy. You're behaving like a child." He took a sip from his tea.

"It's that damn owl. I knew I should have gotten her a bigger one. Stupid creature probably got blown off course." Sherlock muttered, hands knitting in front of his face, eyes narrowed. He snatched the Profit from its place on the table next to them, flipping through the pages at an incredible speed. Judging by the rumpled edges, this was not the first time he had done this. John sighed knowingly at him; Sherlock was making sure some catastrophe hadn't happened that would stop their daughter from writing them the day she arrived at school.

"Maybe I should send a patronus to Hogwarts…" Sherlock muttered, and John set his cup down with some force.

"Sherlock! Don't you dare." He warned, narrowing his dark blue eyes. "She is perfectly able to write us when she sees fit. You are acting like a child because Mycroft wouldn't let you near the Black file and I'm sick of it. You are going to do something embarrassing and then the poor girl will have to deal with torment because _you_ couldn't handle her being gone." He crossed his arms as Sherlock opened his mouth to retort, when a soft tapping against the window made them both stop. Doyle was fluttering madly under the weight of a thick envelope. Sherlock jumped up and let the creature inside, nearly knocking it out of the air as he tried to grab for the letter. The bird darted out of his way, dropping the envelope in John's lap before flying back to the windowsill, clipping Sherlock's head with sharp little talons before settling in the window.

Sherlock scowled, pressing his fingertips against the cut on his smooth forehead, looking at them to see there was blood there. He took the hem of his dressing gown and pulled it up to press it against his head, standing behind John's chair to read over his shoulder. Inside the envelope was a letter and another sealed envelope. They unfolded the letter first.

_Dear Daddies,_

_ I'm sorry this letter is coming to you so late. I meant to write it on my first night but I've been so busy! The train ride was a bit of a disaster; I rode in a compartment with Neville Longbottom, this lovely girl named Luna Lovegood (her dad writes that odd magazine the Quibbler), and this awful girl named Granger. I made a good friend in Luna, I think. She's a little odd but she's very intelligent and kind. I also briefly met Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. They seem nice enough. I got stuck with Granger looking for Neville's toad, and she's so precocious it was horrid. _

_ The castle is so much bigger than you made it out to be. I can't wait till next year when I can have my broomstick. And the Great Hall…it's all so breathtaking. I can't imagine what it must be like to be muggle-born and come to Hogwarts with no experience with seeing magic. It's interesting, really, how many different types of people there are._

_ When we got to the castle they put us all in this room before letting us into the Great Hall. It's much bigger than I thought. They brought out the Sorting Hat, which sang a funny little song and then we were all sorted. Neville, Harry, Ron, and Hermione Granger were all put in Gryffindor. Luna in Ravenclaw. And me…well, try not to let Uncle Mycroft gloat too much. I'm a Ravenclaw now! The hat said he could have seen me in Slytherin as well, but Ravenclaw won out. I'm pleased about this, really. The common room is so spectacular, it's up on the west tower and you can see the entire grounds from our room. _

_ Yesterday we started classes. I hope they will be more interesting than the first day, but charms and potions seem decent enough, though my potions professor acted very disdainfully when he saw my name on the roll sheet. His name is Professor Snape, he seems about your age. Did you know him in school or something? I heard he was acting the same way toward Harry Potter during Gryffindor's lessons. I hope he doesn't have anything against me, because I find the subject fascinating. _

_ I've also included a note that Professor Dumbledore sent to my room, asking to be forwarded to you. I didn't read it. I think my reward for such good behavior should be for you to write back and tell me what it says. Ha-ha._

_ Missing you already, don't have too much fun without me._

_ Your Penny_

John smiled, reading through the letter again as Sherlock leaned over and snatched the smaller envelope from his lap, ripping it open and pacing as he read the short note. "Ha!" Sherlock grinned, his excitement clear on his face, "Dumbledore, you brilliant man. John, tomorrow I will reopen the case of Sirius Black!" He held the letter in front of his husband's face, and John snatched it, reading through it carefully.

_Mr. Holmes,_

_ I have been informed by our friend Remus that you wish to look into an old case for us, but that your brother refuses entrance into the file. Please give this to him as a reminder of how he came to such power in the first place._

_ Hope you are well,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

"Reminder? What reminder?" John asked, blinking.

"Mycroft owes Dumbledore a favor. It was his recommendation that got him a job in the Ministry. Finally, something _fun_ is happening!" Sherlock spun in a circle gleefully, the bleeding cut on his forehead long forgotten. John sighed and stood, pulling the dressing robe off of him and pushing him gently into the chair, wiping the blood away with the terrycloth fabric and trying to not be distracted by Sherlock's thin, bare torso. He felt the gray eyes on his face as he examined the cut, but he ignored Sherlock, trying not to show much emotion. He was afraid of what this case would bring, what dangers it would lead to. "John…I'm going to have to go visit the prison. To interview him…" he started slowly. _Damn!_ John had forgotten about that. He turned wide eyes to Sherlock, who looked honestly surprised by the shock on his face.

"Right. Of course." John said finally, shaking his head slowly, sighing. He hated the way Azkaban affected Sherlock. It made him into the worst kind of emotional wreck; that many dementors in one place was the worst punishment John could imagine. He thought the muggles may have had it right; a death sentence certainly seemed kinder than a dementor's kiss. Just _being_ in the prison for any amount of time was awful, or so he had heard. He'd never been and Sherlock wouldn't allow him to even if he wanted to.

Sherlock gave him a knowing look, wrapping his long arms around his waist and pulling him into his lap. John sighed and laid his head in the curve of his long neck, closing his eyes. "I don't become _that_ terrible after I visit. In fact, the last time ended up working out quite well, didn't it?" He murmured, laying his cheek against John's head.

He chuckled a little darkly, "True." He remembered that last time.

_He didn't recall ever seeing Sherlock so out of sorts. They were only still dating then, living together in the flat because neither of them felt like moving back in with their parents after Hogwarts and because they were, first and foremost, best friends. It didn't seem uncomfortable or even really intimate in any way; they had separate bedrooms and both had gotten jobs almost immediately after finishing school, so it wasn't like they spent their whole time shagging. Sherlock had been working feverishly to prove the Death Eaters were related to a string of murders of muggles. He had gone to the prison to question four suspects, deciding to simply do them all in one day as opposed to having to go back for a return visit. It had taken hours, much longer than he had planned, and when he finally apparated home that night he was pale and shaky, unable to get a grip on his emotions. _

_John, of course, had been out of his wits with fear. He thought there was something seriously wrong with Sherlock, who could barely speak as he curled into a ball into the couch, gray eyes wide with images that still haunted his memories. Dementors, for whatever reason, affected Sherlock more than most people. John thought it was perhaps because he had such little love in his childhood, but Sherlock had later said it was because he had only really loved one person in his life, John, and because of that it was his memories and emotions toward the young doctor that were preyed upon by every dementor; when there were less targets, the hurt was more focused. He clung to John desperately upon arriving home, as if unable to shake the feelings that John had been hurt, that he had nearly died—memories of that fateful day in Hogsmeade mixed with modern images, confusing him. John sat on the couch, holding Sherlock close, convincing him to eat the smallest amount of chocolate, murmuring gently to him until he was finally able to calm him down. They sat together, much like they were sitting now, for a long time, Sherlock quietly stroking John's hand with his thumb, trying to get a grip. He hated showing weakness and John knew it; he didn't ask, didn't need Sherlock to relive the memories and didn't much care to imagine himself in horrible situations anyway. After a long time, Sherlock sat up, stroking John's face carefully eyes full of a smothering emotion John hadn't seen before. _

"_I'm sorry." He had said quietly, looking genuinely ashamed of his behavior. John knit his eyebrows together in confusion. "For, you know, going mad like that. It's just…I see things with those blasted creatures. See you, dead, or suffering. Those type of things…they haunt me, John. Even without the dementors, I'm always so afraid of losing you." _

"_Don't be a prat, Sherlock." John mumbled, fear gripping his stomach. This was sounding far too much like a goodbye. _

_Sherlock smiled a little sadly, "Don't fear, John. I'm not going to leave you. I'm far too selfish for that. But…I have been thinking about us, about what would happen if something did happen. Emotionally, of course, we've already made our promises to each other. However, I have this horribly irritating urge to tie myself to you in every way possible." He smirked a little, reaching his hand into his breast pocket, pulling out the little band of shining gold. "I was hoping for a more appropriate venue to do this, but then I realized that there was nothing going to be more appropriate than this. Me and you, in our home; me being obsessive and you taking care of me. John Watson, I have loved you since I met you that day in potions class, and I would be honored if you would be my husband. Marry me?" his gray eyes smiled, and John saw on the inside of the band the words 'amare infitum': love infinite. Instead of a vocal answer, John grinned at Sherlock and pressed his lips against his, unable to hide his happiness. A lifetime with Sherlock seemed almost too good to be true. The ring had stayed on his finger since that day._

John looked down at the band, sighing again, with contentment this time. Sherlock's left hand stretched in front of them, showing off his matching gold ring, and he kissed John's temple lightly. "I promise to not stay longer than an hour. And I'll eat all the chocolate you want when I return home." He said, and John nodded.

"Do you think he's innocent?" John murmured quietly, linking his hand with Sherlock's, the rings making the slightest little sound as they touched.

"What I think does not much matter." Sherlock hedged, shifting slightly under John's weight.

"Yes I know that, but I'm asking you anyway. Lupin believes he's innocent."

"And if you were put in the same situation, I would believe you innocent as well. Love does that to people. But I can't let my personal beliefs affect my judgment, John. You know that." Sherlock looked down into John's eyes, and John reluctantly nodded. He could see it though, in Sherlock's face, that he wanted Sirius to be innocent, wanted to prove it, to get him out of that place. "So…" he said after a moment of staring deeply at John, "A Ravenclaw. We ought to adopt a Hufflepuff, and then we'd have a full set."

John snorted, "I don't think I can emotionally handle you with another child. You were bad enough with Penny."

"She's my only child, and my daughter. Of course I treated her like royalty." Sherlock sniffed petulantly, but John smiled at him, kissing his prominent cheekbone.

"One was enough." He said, standing and going to clean up the now cold tea, and Sherlock stretched. He was still in his pajama pants, shirtless. He went to stand in the window, where the setting sun made interesting shadows across his angular body. John came back from the kitchen and kissed his shoulder, wrapping his strong arms around Sherlock's middle. "You're a good dad, Sherlock. Even if you are completely mad." He said simply, and he felt Sherlock chuckle against him.

**I realize this chapter had no plot whatsoever. I've got big plans for this fic, okay? Just stick with me and leave reviews! -xo**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks for all the feedback my dears! –xo**

Chapter 9

A month and a half into the school year and Penny was already proving to be the cleverest witch in their year, followed closely, to her annoyance, by Hermione Granger. This, she thought, was an unfair comparison; Granger was book smart, that was certain, but when it came actually _knowing_ things, and putting them into practice, she was hopeless. Penny and the other Ravenclaws had potions with Hufflepuff, but she heard that Hermione was hopeless at the subject, which gave her some small satisfaction, as Penny was actually quite good at potions.

It was mid-October when Penny began to get frustrated. Sitting in the cool dungeon with Luna as her partner, she sat back in her seat, her sleeping drought bubbling in front of her, the exact shade of lilac the book had described. Luna smiled pleasantly at her side, her blue eyes looking hopefully at Professor Snape, who was swooping throughout the room, breathing down the necks of the students who hadn't finished yet. Finally he came to them, sneering, as he often did, at Penny. "Passable." He said of their potion, tapping it with his wand so that its contents vanish. Penny gaped at him.

"Passable, sir?" She asked in confusion. Luna next to her was staring up at the dark haired man with an equally confused look, "It looked precisely as the book said…I followed the instructions to a tee."

Snape glared at Penny with cold black eyes, but she didn't look away, defiant without being disrespectful, "Oh and you are a potions master now, are you?" he sneered.

"But sir, she's right." Luna added, her high voice tinged with anger.

"Ten points from Ravenclaw." He spat, making a move to turn.

"What's wrong with it, then?" Penny scoffed, standing to look inside the now empty cauldron, "You didn't tell me what to fix. I'd like to get a higher mark than passable in this class, professor." He wheeled around, stalking back to their table. Others were beginning to stare.

"Miss Watson, your arrogance is beginning to test me. How I choose to grade is up to my digression and I'll not have you acting like you are such a clever witch just because your fathers taught you all their little mind games." His look was deadly, but Penny reared defensively, rushing to defend her parents.

"My _fathers_ have nothing to do with this! I'm only asking what I can do to fix-"

"Detention, Miss Watson, tonight." He snapped, effectively silencing Penny, whose argument died in her throat. She felt herself flush, her skin growing hot. In her entire life she'd never once gotten a detention at school; professors usually doted on her. She sat back down, deflated, and as soon as the class was over she nearly ran from the room. Luna caught up to her in the hall.

"Oh, Penny, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." She said, looking worried. Penny swallowed hard and shook her head.

"No, Luna, it isn't your fault. He obviously has something against my dads." She waved a hand in front of her face dismissively but her stomach was still in knots, furious. It wasn't fair; she was clearly the best in their class. Why must he have such a prejudice against her?

Penny didn't talk much throughout the rest of the day, still fuming. It wasn't uncomfortable, as Luna didn't speak much anyway, aside to add her funny little take on things at dinner or in the halls, but still it was evident that Penny was angry. Luna skipped dreamily beside her friend as they made their way up to the common room after dinner, Penny to drop off her books before sighing and waving goodbye to her blonde friend, slowly trudging back down the tower to the dungeons.

The castle was mostly quiet, most students having gone to their common rooms after the meal. She was surprised when, walking down a staircase to the dungeons, she heard footsteps on the marble floors behind her. She paused and glanced behind her to see Harry Potter walking without his redheaded companion, looking nearly as miffed as she did. He paused in surprise, "Oh, hello." He said, clearing his throat, "Sorry, Penny, right? We met on the train…"

"Yes, of course. You're Harry." Penny nodded, "What brings you to the dungeons?"

"Detention with Snape." He said a little sheepishly, mussing his black hair.

Penny grinned at him, "Me too! What'd you do?"

"Talked out of turn. You?"

"Same, I suppose." She shrugged and continued down the stairs with Harry at her side. They entered Snape's darkened office together, and he looked up from his desk with a sneer.

"Ah. The gang's all here." His voice mocked amusement coldly. He gestured to two separate desks, where old boxes were set on each. They each sat down silently, glancing up at him for instruction. "You will rewrite some of the damaged detention records here, I'm sure you'll find some of them instructive to say the least." He turned, robe swooping behind him, and say down on his chair, watching them like a hawk.

Penny sighed and opened the first box, pulling out a stack of papers. She instantly recognized the year as when he fathers had been at school. Beside her, Harry seemed to be realizing the same thing. He swallowed hard before hungrily reading through the first sheet, seeming a little disheartened when it didn't mention his parent's name. Slowly, the sounds of quills scratching parchment filled the room. Penny rewrote a few forms before her father's name jumped out on the page, making her stomach flip. She read the paper carefully

**Name: Sherlock Holmes**

**Year: 6**

**House: Slytherin**

**Reason for Detention: Accused Hufflepuff Head Boy (Markus Alcott) of "hitting the meade too hard" the previous night, resulting in a scuffle between himself and Alcott. JOHN WATSON (Gryffindor) also involved in fistfight. **

**Punishment: Detention—three weeks**

There was a smudged signature at the bottom from a wizard Penny didn't recognize, obviously some since-retired professor. She had a very hard time restraining a fit of giggles, trying to keep her face perfectly smooth so as to not attract attention to herself. Snape ignored her, so she copied out the form, smirking the tiniest bit. She could see it, her fathers young, not yet romantic, but best mates. Sherlock, taking one look at a seventh year and being able to tell that he had been drinking the night before, the boy getting defensive, resulting in a fist fight. John coming in to defend him. It was so typically them, she felt a little bit of pride well inside her. Even after all these years they were still the same, still the two kids who defended each other without reservation. As the hour passed she found several more similar stories that usually included Sherlock being cheeky about something and John defending him; the two never spent a detention separately. There were quite a few from their seventh year that included them getting caught in the halls after hours, snogging. She blushed a little at those, but even that wasn't surprising, really. When Snape let them out of detention, she and Harry got up and walked out of the dungeon together, quiet for a long time.

"Were the ones you had from your parents too?" Harry finally asked after a while, and Penny glanced at him. Shoulders hunched forward, green eyes downward, hands stuffed into pockets. She bit her lip and nodded.

"He didn't make you look at…at your parent's papers, did he?" She nearly whispered, appalled. That would be beyond cruel, bringing up images of his parents, alive and mischievous, when he had only just learned the truth about them. He nodded slowly, "Oh, Harry! I'm so sorry…that wasn't kind at all…"

He swallowed and looked up at her, "You're adopted too, aren't you? Ron was telling me."

Penny sighed at him and nodded. It wasn't the same with her and she knew it, but she didn't point it out to him. "My parents were killed only a few months before yours. They were muggles…killed in cold blood for sport. They didn't come for me. I have no idea why. Maybe they didn't know I was in the house, that I was even there. Daddy said when he found me I was quiet, just quietly lying in my crib. That's how he knew I was a witch, because I seemed to _know_ that there was danger, and I had enough sense to not draw attention to myself." She took a deep breath through the nose, "I'm lucky. Lucky that it had been my dad who came to the house to investigate me, that he found me. I don't know what my life would have been like otherwise…"

Harry cleared his throat, "Did your parents, your dads, did they know mine? They went to school together…" He looked at her hopefully, most likely trying to hear something about them that didn't involve them breaking rules or bullying people.

So Penny nodded, even though she didn't know much about their previous relationship with Harry's parents. They didn't talk about the Potters much, it was too sad for John. "My daddy Sherlock grew up down the street from your mom and aunt…your aunt probably would recognize his name if you ever brought it up, actually. And my dad John was in Gryffindor with them. I don't know if they were friends, exactly, but they definitely knew each other. After Hogwarts they worked with Dumbledore and some other wizards to try to take down You-Know-Who. But then of course, you took care of that for them in the end." She smiled a little sadly at him, and Harry's hand reflexively went to his scar.

"It must have been brilliant…being raised by wizards." He said after a long moment, glancing at her, "What do they do, in the wizard world?"

Penny frowned. It was a hard answer to give, as Sherlock's job was ambiguous to say the least. "My dad John is a healer at St. Mungo's, the wizard hospital. He does general work and takes care of a few terminal patients. And Sherlock…" she bit her cheek, thinking, "Well, I suppose he's a consultant of types. He's brilliant, really good at figuring things out. When there are crimes or mysteries the ministry can't solve, they go to him. But he also helps Ron's dad in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts department."

"So he's like a detective." Harry said, sounded awed. Penny nodded at the muggle term, shrugging. Her fathers were both brilliant in their own ways, but it got tedious sometimes too. It was impossible to get away with anything in their home. They had reached the main staircase and Harry said goodbye with a small smile, turning toward the east wing of the castle as she turned to the west, sighing. Her detention sentence had been more amusing than punishing, but she felt awful for Harry. Seeing him was brought up the all too familiar feeling of gratitude and awe at how fortunate her life had been, especially surrounded by so many people who had experienced so much grief. Luna had lost her mother, not to the wizard war, but still. Neville, his parent's mad in the hospital. And Harry, the most famous young wizard in history, who didn't even know the truth of his past until two months ago. She sighed, crawling into her four poster bed after changing into her nightclothes.

"Lumos," she whispered, trying not to wake any of the other girls up. She drew the curtains around her bed and held the lighted tip of her wand toward the wall behind the head of her bed. It was covered in photos and the two letters her parents had sent her so far, the pictures moving eerily in the pale light. She smiled, pressing her fingertips to one of her and John the previous summer, racing on broomsticks across the great lawns of Mycroft's estate. There were Christmas photos, many of which were awkward and stiff, Sherlock clearly less than amused. Her favorite was from her first Halloween, when she was just a baby. She had a princess tiara fastened to her brown curls, sparkly dress overflowing on Sherlock's lap; she had been laughing madly, her face lit up, and Sherlock looked down at her with so much affection, the ridiculous deerstalker hat folding his ears down. She grinned at the picture as she often did, extinguished her wand, and went to sleep.

**Once again, my word = gospel. So no need to inform me of Harry Potter inconsistencies, mmkay? Please leave reviews though! *smiles sweetly* -xo**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello there. If you follow me on tumblr then you know that I'm gonna be updating a little less frequently (which means I will be updating like a normal person instead of like a crazy person like I've been updating) mostly because I'm taking some pretty ridiculous classes that thus far I've been neglecting. If you're subscribed to the story you'll get updates, so do that if you haven't already. Keep the feedback coming ya'll, it means a lot. This chapter is the longest thus far.**

* * *

><p>Sherlock Holmes was losing his patience. Penny was due to arrive home for the winter holidays in a week, and he was no closer to proving Sirius's innocence than he had been in October. Then, of course, there was a week of distraction as he anxiously awaited a letter from his daughter after news had spread of a troll attacking some students in the Hogwarts dungeons. John had quietly informed him that if anything had happened to her they would have of course been notified, but Sherlock was distracted anyway, unable to focus. It had been a miserable week in their home: Sherlock taking two days to recover from the haunting images after interviewing Sirius in Azkaban, and directly after that reading the article in the Prophet about the troll. Poor John did all he could to console his husband, but it was for naught. Sherlock carried his hurt heavily inside of him and even the good doctor couldn't dig it up when it was so raw.<p>

The interview had been nearly useless, which made the whole situation even more frustrating. He travelled to the tiny island before John had even woken in the morning, unable to look into the worried blue eyes before travelling to such a horrible place. He couldn't even imagine the images that look would have cause, the sick, twisted way the dementors would take the loving gaze and turn it into something morbid—well, he went before John was awake. It was cloudy and damp, as it always seemed to be, the ghostly black figures floating over the stone fortress like seahawks searching for prey. Sherlock steeled himself and entered the building, going to the little antechamber reserved for visits. There was a chair placed unceremoniously in front of what seemed like a giant birdcage; Sirius's thin, wild body was lifted on a platform into the cage.

Sherlock glanced at the two Dementors who stood guard at the door, "Your protection is not necessary." He said coldly. The creatures stayed at their post. Finally, after being unable to convince them to leave, he conjured a patronus (a miracle, really, in such a haunted place) which sent them swooping away. He figured he had a few minutes before more returned, so he turned to Sirius, who looked marginally more aware after the dementors had left. "Listen to me, Black, we don't have much time. I'm going to try to prove your innocence, but I need you to tell me everything about that night."

Sirius appraised the dark-clad man before him, brown eyes confused, "Remus put you up to this." He finally said, his voice horse, as if it hadn't been used in many weeks.

"Of course." Sherlock said, impatient. "That night, Sirius. And quickly."

Sirius laughed mirthlessly, madly. "I went to Peter. Found him on a street in London, accused him. I believed he was the one that had sold Lilly and James out…James, my best friend. He was dead and Peter was the reason why. I went to him, yes. And we scuffled. But I didn't kill him, Holmes. I didn't." he clutched the iron bars in front of him, shaking. Sherlock stared back at him, expressionless. He motioned for Sirius to continue, and the prisoner took a shaky breath. "Peter had always been…weak. How he ended up in Gryffindor always made James and me curious. I had seen him, only a few weeks before, asked him to come to the Potters with me for Harry's birthday. He refused, said he couldn't see them, that he had something to do. Mad, he was, he kept muttering about how he had heard something that would be dangerous."

"Heard something? What?" Sherlock sat up a little straighter, but deflated again when Sirius shook his head, not knowing.

"Whatever it was gave _him_ a reason to kill them. You-know-who! In person! Goes to their home in the middle of the night…" Sirius had tears falling thick into his wild beard, shaking his head over and over. "I accused him. And there was an explosion. And he was gone. Finger left on the ground. Dozen bloody witnesses who didn't know what happened, just assumed it was me who set the blast, that I had made him vanish into thin air!" he laughed again, eyes crazed.

Sherlock pressed his fingertips together, frowning. There had to be more. Finally, it struck him. "You're an animagus." He said suddenly. Sirius looked genuinely shocked.

"Who told you that. It…I'm not registered. We were just kids when—"

"I don't care about that. You and James were animagi, correct? Was Peter?"

Sirius blinked, finally understanding. He nodded, "A rat…a bloody rat…" he whispered. In that moment the door flew open and a dozen dementors surrounded Sherlock. He barely even saw Sirius get lowered back into the depths of the prison before the horrible images started, the dementors angry at him for having dispelled them, attacking him with everything less than the Kiss itself. He apparated to St. Mungo's directly, having enough good sense to know that he couldn't come out of this nightmare without John, who would be at work. He popped, writhing under the mental images, into John's office. Half an hour later, the doctor came in, intending to rest between appointments, and nearly yelled out in fear, seeing his husband curled into a ball on the floor, eyes wild and unseeing, clutching his head with a death grip. It was worse, so much worse, than the last time, images of Penny now added to the mangled ones of John, the Dementors hardly holding back in their anger and sheer numbers. He couldn't even react to John's worried hands gently prying his away from the black curls, his whole body stiff as if in post mortem.

John had kneeled patiently next to Sherlock, gently stroking his face and hair until he was able to move again; and when he could, he began to shake, silent sobs racking his entire body. He clutched weakly to John, unable to even feel embarrassed at the weakness he was showing. John apparated them back to their flat, using a hover charm to settle the tall man gently in their bed, where he carefully removed his shoes and outer clothing, leaving Sherlock in a cold sweat in his undergarments. He wrapped him in a blanket and sat next to him, pulling Sherlock's head in his lap with a sigh, brushing the hair out of his sweaty face. Sherlock gazed up at him, still fearful, and John murmured quietly to him until he was able to fall into a fitful sleep.

The next morning Sherlock awoke to a pounding headache, his body stiff, his throat sore. He vaguely remembered coming home with John, being held by the strong blond man as he cried out in the night. The pain in his head made it difficult to move, but he rolled from his side to his back. He could hear John in the hall, sending a message to the hospital from the sound of it. "No I can't come it at all…Sherlock is very ill. Yes I'll be back in tomorrow, hopefully. Thank you." He could only hear one end of the conversation, but he knew it was a disservice to the hospital to keep John away. Guilt gripped his stomach like a vise. John slowly came back into the room, obviously trying not to wake up, but when he walked inside and saw the gray eyes frowning apologetically at him he gave a little half smile, setting the steaming mug in his hands on the table next to the bed. He kneeled on the floor beside Sherlock, pushing the hair that was now dried to his face up and out of his eyes. "You're never going back there. I don't care if it's _me_ in that prison. You are not going back there." He said, managing to be both stern and loving at the same time. Sherlock nodded weakly, feeling ashamed, his throat too sore to reply. John sighed at him and shook his head, reaching over and handing him the cup. Hot chocolate. Sherlock made a face, having never been a fan, but John narrowed his eyes dangerously and he sipped it. Despite the overt sweetness that Sherlock generally despised, he had to admit that he felt better after drinking it. He finished half the mug before setting it down and looking at his hands, John frowning at him.

"Come on, you're a mess. You need to shower." He finally sighed, pulling Sherlock up out of bed and pushing him into the bathroom. He stumbled, clutching his pounding head, and clutched to John as he tried to leave. Sighing, John turned one of the half-dozen taps along the tub and steaming water smelling of eucalyptus filled the porcelain bathtub. Sherlock clumsily undressed and sank into the slightly green water, his angled body pointing sharply out of the water like rocks on a moor. John sighed at him, sitting on the floor beside the tub, chin resting of the lip of it, hand gently pulling through Sherlock's wet black hair. "You aren't allowed to do this again, Sherlock. I'm serious. What if Penny saw you this way?" Sherlock glanced at him and ducked his face up to his eyes under the water, blowing bubbles huffily through his nose.

Penny. No, Penny couldn't see him that way, in fact he and John decided that she was not to know about this case at all, especially since she seemed friendly with Harry Potter. It made the fact that he had not solved it yet beyond frustrating; but really, he had nothing to go off of. Unless he could find Peter Pettigrew alive and turn him in, Sirius Black was doomed to stay in that prison for the rest of his life. Sherlock was obsessed with making sure that didn't happen. Which was exactly why it was five a.m. and Sherlock was still standing hunched over one of his leather notebooks, scribbling furiously, still in the now rumpled shirt and trousers of the day before. His back ached from standing all night, but he ignored it, his ample mind pushing everything that wasn't directly relevant to what he was doing far from his thoughts. He realized John would be awake soon, especially since Sherlock wasn't in the bed with him, which meant that he would get up earlier than usual, but he continued his writing, glancing up occasionally at his subjects in front of him to observe before taking down another note.

"What the _hell_ are those?" John nearly yelled when he came down into the kitchen an hour later, showered and dressed for work. He gestured to the cage on the counter, which held three rats. Sherlock sighed and gave him a scathing look through the dark curls that fell limply into his face. Whoever said there was no such thing as a stupid question had obviously never met John Watson. "I need them for research." Sherlock replied finally, turning back to his notebook. An idea struck him suddenly, "John. Would you be willing to become an animagus for me?" He looked up to him with crazed, excited gray eyes.

John narrowed his eyes, grabbing a mug from a cabinet, "Have you gone mad?"

"Obviously not. It would be greatly beneficial to my research."

"I'm not becoming an animagus so you can perform spells on me and stick potions into my veins!"

Sherlock huffed and slammed his book shut, leaning against the counter. His neck cracked as he leaned his head back against the counter, and John winced. "There has to be a way…" Sherlock muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Maybe you should get some sleep, love." John said softly, looking at him worriedly. Sherlock waved him off.

"I'm going to try to get into Pettigrew's file." He said with an air of conviction. John didn't reply, so Sherlock looked up at him. He was looking at him with a critical eye; he recognized the look, as he'd seen him use it on his patients before, especially Alice and Frank. He was trying to determine his mental health, and Sherlock scoffed, "Oh save me the doctor's orders, John. I haven't had a case like this in years."

"Yes and you were just beginning to become a normal man, Sherlock. You worry me like this, all obsessive. It's unhealthy." John was frowning and Sherlock could see he really meant what he was saying.

So Sherlock smirked, "You didn't fall in love with a normal man. Face it, Watson, you like me better when I'm interesting." He was teasing John, diffusing the tension with humor, but John was not interested in flirting. He just rolled his eyes and kissed Sherlock on the cheek, giving him one more scathing look before leaving the flat for work. Sherlock glanced at the snoozing rodents before sighing, taking a too-hot shower before heading to the ministry.

* * *

><p>"Do you have any idea how many strings I had to pull to get you the Black file? Now you want the file of a murdered man? That will not look good in any sense, brother." Mycroft was leaning back in his plush leather chair of his office, glancing at the clock repeatedly. Sherlock was interrupting his lunch hour.<p>

"No one has to know its missing. His file is locked in a box somewhere, no one is checking it for any reason, and I'll return it before Penny arrives home." Sherlock said, hands on the dark wooden desk, leaning forward. He was tired and frustrated and he needed that file, damn it. Mycroft crossed his arms in a gesture very similar to their mother's 'end of discussion' look, and Sherlock scowled, turning out of the office and slamming the door behind him. He went to his own cramped little office, where he was once again alone, and pulled out his wand, violently flicking it toward a singing teacup in the corner, making it smash against the wall with a soprano screech. He scowled at the humming pile of broken porcelain on the ground, fuming.

Mycroft was so obsessed with image and what people thought, it was ridiculous. Furious, Sherlock sent another three cups at the wall, their powdered remains sounding like a live wire on the ground. He stood there, wand in hand, breathing heavily, trying to get a grip and come up with a plan, when the door slowly swung open. He turned around and saw the woman standing in the doorway, a short black dress clinging to her hourglass frame, bright blue eyes shining with mischief, a smirk on cherry red lips. Her glossy black hair was pulled across one shoulder, cascading across pale arms that held a large, heavy envelope. "Mr. Holmes, the younger, I presume?" she purred sweetly, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes, turning to face her.

"That would depend on whom is asking." He replied curtly, crossing to sit lightly on the edge of his desk, "Come in then." He snapped, not liking the way her eyes grazed his body slowly. She strutted inside on red stilettos, her body rolling like a cat's as she walked. The door swung shut behind her, and she made no move to sit, standing squarely in front of Sherlock at a distance too close to be considered comfortable. "So who _is _asking, then?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes, trying to get a read on her.

"You may call me Irene, Mr. Holmes, though my name is of little importance to you." She smiled again and set the envelope in his lap. The front of it bore the name Peter Pettigrew, "A little gift, though it will do you little good. You won't find him." Her eyes flicked mischievously to Sherlock's.

"Where did you get this?" Sherlock asked with a little surprise, pulling open the envelope. It was in fact Peter's file.

"Oh you aren't the only one who enjoys pissing off big brother, my dear."

"Why would you want to help me?" he turned his catlike eyes back to her, on the defense. There was clearly something wrong here.

"Oh no, handsome, I already told you there's nothing in that file that will help you. And, I also said, I'm of little importance to you. I come on behalf of a greater power, a young man very much like yourself, except unlike you and your little domestic dreams, he has much bigger plans for the wizarding world. Plans that your little inquiry will be getting in the way of." She smiled wickedly at the look of confusion that cross Sherlock's face for a fraction of a moment.

"I suppose you're a death eater then, yes?" He replied cooly, leaning back on his hands, languid.

"Oh no, Mr. Holmes, my wrists are clean." She turned her forearms out to him, revealing unmarried, perfect pale skin. "My master has intuitions that coincide with the Dark Lord's, but are completely separate. His wrists are not as pure as mine, however. It's impossible to have a double agenda these days in such a _mad _world." She was enjoying this game, it was clear, but Sherlock remained quiet, letting her continue. "Which is why I was hired to relay a message to you…" Irene bit her bottom lip, her eyes taking him in again, undressing him in her mind, obviously. Sherlock twirled his wand in his fingers, thinking carefully.

"A message?" he finally replied, looking intrigued. He cocked a dark brow at the woman before him, whose eyes reluctantly moved from the tight fabric across his chest to his face.

"You will give up on Sirius Black or you will very much regret it. Wouldn't want your pretty little daughter harmed, would we?" her voice had turned deadly, and Sherlock was instantly on the defense, wand gripped tightly in his hand. "That's what I thought. I'd think very carefully about your next move, Mr. Holmes. Things are about to change around here." She turned, pausing in the doorway, "Oh, and let's keep big brother and hubbykins out of this, yes? Ta, love." She pulled her wand out of her cleavage and had apparated away just as Sherlock had stood, trying to stop her, to find out who this 'master' of hers was. But she was gone, and Sherlock was left alone in the office, the droning of the broken cups suddenly sounding much more sinister than before.

* * *

><p><strong>WELP. I changed my writing style a little bit in this one, let me know if you liked it or not. Please leave reviews! -xo<strong>


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Luna and Penny said their goodbyes while still on the train, knowing perfectly well their parents would be too busy smothering them at the platform to give any real chance for a proper goodbye. So, as the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, Penny and Luna hugged, wishing each other a happy Christmas. Penny took her rucksack, which was mostly filled with books and her cat, as she had clothes back at the flat, and climbed off of the train. The snow was falling gently over uncovered areas, and she almost didn't see her fathers standing close together in the same corner of the platform from which she left them in September. They had their hands pushed into pockets, standing close enough so that their arms pressed together, eyes scanning the platform in sync. Penny grinned and ran to them, John reacting first, arms opening up for her to launch herself into them. He caught her gracefully and spun her around, placing a big kiss on her cheek. She hugged Sherlock next, who ruffled her curls with a smile. There was something in his eyes that was different, but she couldn't place it. He looked…sad, almost. Like he was trying to memorize every single thing about her. She shook it off, figuring it to be parental sadness, the fact she was growing up quickly.

But that was only part of it, really. John had noticed it too, the way Sherlock had been acting over the past week. He was much more quiet than usual, having given up on Sirius's case for the time being, blaming it on Mycroft's refusal to give him Peter's file. It was odd that he would give up so quickly, but John at first didn't complain, hoping Sherlock would at least get some sleep again. Sherlock was a good actor, crawling into bed every night, pretending to doze off until he knew John was asleep before laying wide awake, haunting images and thoughts plaguing him. He knew John would be able to give him a potion to help him clear his mind and rest, but doing so would require him to tell him exactly what was going through his head, and he couldn't do that. He had decided eighteen years ago, in front of that shop in Hogsmeade, that he would do anything to protect John Watson, even if it meant lying to him. So he suffered in silence, equally fearful of losing his family and morbidly curious of who this person who had an agenda outside of Lord Voldemort's was. It was a horrible line to walk.

They apparated back to the flat, John with Penny and Sherlock on his own. The two were chattering animatedly, arms linked, taking the steps to the flat two at a time. Sherlock had to smile; John acted tough because he knew Sherlock needed him to, but he missed Penny a lot. They were so similar, she and him. Charismatic, kind, funny, expressive, and brave. He wondered, as he often did, what John actually liked about Sherlock. He was pretty unlovable according to most modern convictions. Sitting at his normal spot at the table with them, he rest his chin against his folded hands, listening to Penny talk about the first school Quidditch match, her arms flying madly as she gestured. He found himself watching John, watching him laugh with her, his blue eyes widening with excitement at various points of the story. He was so expressive, John; Sherlock could read every line of his face like a book. He smiled a little.

"Your classes are going well, then?" Sherlock asked after her story was finished, "Getting good marks?"

"Yes, of course. Some of the classes are horribly boring though. Herbology, for instance. I'm quite good at potions though." She sniffed, smug, but John clapped her on the shoulder gently, grinning. He had always been good at potions himself. "You wouldn't know it though, based on the marks Snape gives me. Always 'acceptable' or 'average', though I clearly have done it perfectly. But when I try to ask him what is wrong with it, he gives me detention."

"_Detention_?" John and Sherlock repeated crossly, looking at her with disapproval.

"Three of them," she groaned, "It's absurd! I wasn't disrespectful in the slightest…not usually anyway." She added the last part in a muttered tone, crossing her arms.

"Penelope Watson, you have no reason to be getting detention." Sherlock reprimanded quietly, looking at her sternly. She blushed.

"But daddy it isn't me! He hates me!" Penny groaned, covering her face with her hands. After a moment she peeked through her fingers, "Actually. He hates _you_." John huffed, glancing at Sherlock, who met his gaze before lowering his eyes. It was hard to believe an adult man would hold a grudge for so long, but then again Snape had always had a talent for hating with every fiber of his being. "Why does he hate you?" Penny asked, looking between them. Sherlock glanced at John, who nodded and sighed, leaning back.

Sherlock rolled back his shirt sleeves, the wicked pink scars on his hands and forearms visible. Penny looked at him, confused. She'd seen the scars, of course, same at the ones on John's leg. She knew there had been a fire when they were in school, but the details were vague. "You know how we got these, yes?" He looked at her calmly.

Penny bit her lip, "A fire, right? That's what uncle Mycroft said."

Sherlock snorted, "Yes, a fire. That was caused by a bomb-like spell in the middle of the joke shop at Hogsmeade. I wasn't in the building when it happened, but John was." He looked to his husband again, who flushed lightly.

"I almost died." John said with a frown, "The blast knocked a burning shelf on me, couldn't be moved by magic. Broke my leg. Sherlock ran in and saved me." He reached across the table and took the long-fingered, wasted hand of his husband, who squeezed back gently.

"But…what does this have to do with Snape?" Penny asked, cocking her head confusedly.

"The blast was made by him. It was a hate crime against myself and John and the rest of the Gryffindor quidditch team. He hated them. And he hated me for liking them. See, Severus and I had been…well I suppose we were friends. We grew up together. But when I met this optimistic prat I fell out of sorts with Severus." Sherlock grinned at John, who smiled back sheepishly.

"A…hate crime? That seems awfully extreme…" Penny murmured, frowning.

"Oh, it wasn't just him. He was working with another student who would go on to be a Death Eater. Was fed a bunch of crock about the Dark Lord, got him all wrong in the head. He's since come back to our side, and Dumbledore trusts him, but back then Severus was poisoned in the mind by that smooth talking monster Jim—"

"Jim Moriarty…." Sherlock whispered, cutting him off. John looked at him, eyebrows knitting together. Sherlock's face had gone completely lax, eyes flicking back and forth as he thought. Jim Moriarty, that must be whom Irene was working for. The one with the double agenda. Who else would be keeping tabs on Sherlock and his investigations? Sherlock stood up suddenly, his chair falling behind him, and he sprinted to the bedroom, grabbing his coat and scarf and notebook. He came back in and kissed Penny on the top of the head. "I'll be back soon. Stay here." He ignored John's questions and apparated away without further comment.

John groaned, covering his face with his hands. "I have no idea what has gotten into him lately." He muttered.

"He doesn't look good…he's lost weight." Penny replied, frowning.

"Yes, well, you know him. He doesn't eat. He thinks I don't know that he doesn't sleep." John sighed, shaking his head. Penny chewed on the inside of her cheek, leaning down to let Mary out of her bag. She sat the white cat in her lap, stroking it distractedly. Sherlock was obviously up to something; he only behaved this way when he was on a case. But why weren't they mentioning it? She glanced at John, who was still sitting there, leaning his head back, staring at the ceiling.

Sighing, Penny stood and went to the kitchen to get Mary a bowl of water. While standing at the sink, she looked through the window there to the street below. There was a dark, robed figure standing across the street, staring directly up into their home. She shut off the tap, backing slowly away from the window before turning toward the living room, "Dad…I think someone is watching us."

* * *

><p>Though the Ministry of Magic never <em>stopped <em>running, there were far less people swarming about its great stone lobby, and Sherlock's shoes echoed loudly through the chamber as he ran to the elevators. He went directly to Mycroft's office, unlocking the door with office was ridiculous, really; huge, carpeted in a rich green shag, the mahogany desk large and obnoxious in the center. Luckily for Sherlock his brother was also meticulously organized, and it wasn't difficult to find the little button along the bottom of the desk that opened a panel of the wall into a long, narrow hall of filing cabinets.

Sherlock had been in the record hall before, of course. It was where they kept all known information on Death Eaters and those affected by them. Mycroft's affiliation with the Muggle Safety division was really just a title: he worked with much heavier information and problems. Somewhere along the expanse of files was information on Penny, and on John's dad. But it wasn't a victim Sherlock was looking for, not this time. He went directly to the side that held suspected death eaters, to the M's, and thumbed through the many files until he saw it.

James Moriarty. He pulled the file and nearly yelled out as the pain shot through him like electricity, paired with an ear-splitting ringing. He dropped the file on the ground and the sound cut off, leaving just a moment of silence until _crack!_ The sound of apparation echoed through the marble room. Sherlock wheeled around to the noise, turning to face the small dark haired man in a suit, his fox patronus stalking behind him like a lithe little guard. "Oh Sherly you have been naughty, haven't you?" he lilted, hands behind his back, smiling coldly. Sherlock stared calmly back, wand pointed to the man, who seemed to neither notice nor care. He took a few steps forward in the narrow space. "I thought I made it very clear when I sent Irene, hmm? But of course you didn't know it was me until now, did you? I must say I'm a bit disappointed. Thought you were more clever than that. But then, love is such a kind drug. Rots your brain, doesn't it Sherlock?" Jim was now walking slow circles around the taller man, who stayed planted, wand out and defensive. He walked back up the hallway slowly, and Sherlock took the moment his back was turned to shoot a stunning spell at the man. He flicked the wand in his folded hands infinitesimally, blocking it with ease. "Quite feisty aren't we, Lockie?" Moriarty turned to face him again, now grinning wickedly. "I would be very careful if I were you." He turned to the fox, which faded out of existence and said, in a high, clear voice "Bring them here."

_Crack! Crack!_ Behind Moriarty appeared two darkly robed figures, each with a hostage bound in ropes attached to each of their wands. Sherlock's stomach seemed to plummet into the ground. Penny. And John. The cloaked figures pushed back their hoods to reveal themselves, and Sherlock recognized the woman who had her hands placed wickedly on Penny's throat and in her hair as Irene. The man who held John was tall and build squarely, blond hair cropped short, jaw forward defensively. The captors each hand two wands: their own and John and Penny's. They had overpowered them, probably in the flat, bound them and brought them here. John's eyes were wide as he saw Sherlock standing there with Jim, and Penny screamed out for him until Irene tightened her grasp on her throat.

"What do you want." Sherlock finally asked, trying not to let the desperation show in his tone. His knuckles were white as he gripped his wand.

"Well for starters we can drop that wand of yours, yes?" Jim said, smiling coldly back at him. Sherlock deliberated a moment before dropping his wand.

"Daddy, no!" Penny screamed, and his eyes met hers for the briefest moment. Behind the terror was real rebellion, and that frightened him more than anything. He looked away from his daughter to Moriarty, who flicked his wand at him, the spell hitting him square in the chest and making him fall backwards against the marble floor, head hitting the stone painfully. His entire body was stiff and unmovable, but he felt himself being floated up so he could face them all again. Blood rushed from the point of contact on the floor through his hair and across his temple.

"Oh, daddy needs a time out, little one. And a good _beating_." Moriarty flicked his wand again, throwing Sherlock's stiff body against the cabinets. The sound was tumultuous, so much so that he could only see John and Penny yell out, lunging for him only to be pulled backwards by their bonds. With a wicked laugh, Moriarty raised his arms up dramatically, making Sherlock rise until his back was parallel to the ground, before dropping him flat onto his face. He felt his nose break, and lights flashed before his eyes. Moriarty lifted him then, walking slowly to Sherlock who glared at him with every ounce of venom in his body. "Oh, Daddy is so brave, is he? But he's an idiot. Cannot even quell his curiosity to keep his family safe, though he was given fair warning. Disobedience deserves punishment, don't you agree?" he turned then to Penny, who was wriggling in her bonds, staring coldly at Moriarty. "Such a pretty one, don't you agree, Sebby?" He turned to the blond man, who grunted in reply. Jim kneeled in front of Penny and stroked her face from temple to chin, grinning when she reeled back. "She'd be a fine pet. Wouldn't she Miss Adler?"

Irene yanked her wand slightly, tightening the ropes so that Penny gasped out, "Oh yes, once she's trained up a bit." Her hands slid seductively from Penny's neck and down her shoulders.

"Get your hands off of her!" John snarled, and the one Jim referred to as "Sebby" pointed his wand threateningly against John's temple. The blue eyes met Sherlock's gray ones in desperation, "What is going on? What do you want with us! We haven't done anything!" John ignored the wand against his skull. Defiant. Brave. Jim looked between his hostages before turning to Sherlock.

"You mean to say they don't know? You didn't tell them, did you Lockie? Well that _is_ a surprise. I had no idea you were so compliant." He whispered the last word directly into Sherlock's bleeding face, continuing his slow circle before stopping just behind Sherlock. "Let the girl go!" he lilted, and Irene instantly released the bonds on her, making her fall to the ground gasping and coughing with the sudden oxygen. "Do me a favor, pet, and pick up the file daddy was so kind to drop for me." Penny glared up and him before turning to John, who nodded slightly, fearful they would hurt her more. Slowly, she stood straight, head held high, and walked to the spot in front of Sherlock where the file lay. She lifted it carefully, Sherlock barely breathing a sigh of relief that whatever spell had hurt him before had clearly been lifted, when the papers suddenly flashed brightly with horrible emerald flames, purple smoke spewing from it. Penny shrieked, trying to drop the file that now seemed stuck to her burning hands, and the sound of her painful screams and Jim's laughter surrounded Sherlock as he struggled to break free of the paralysis.

"Stop! Stop it, she's just a child!" John screamed, and the tall man clutched his throat, choking him. Suddenly the fire stopped, and Penny fell to the ground, dropping the file, hands and arms a horrible deep red, sobbing.

"This has been fun." Jim said, sounding genuinely gleeful. "But this was just a warning. You will drop this case, and all cases you may find my name attached to, Sherlock Holmes, or you will find that I will cause much more pain then that which has been endured tonight. Let's go, loves."

_Crack! Crack! Crack!_ All three disapparated, and Sherlock was able to move again. He lunged himself at Penny, who was shaking in pain, before John grabbed their wands on the ground, looped his arms through both of theirs, and apparated them back to the flat without another word.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock, you're bleeding." John said calmly when they arrived, his tone the strong, firm one usually reserved for his patients.<p>

"I don't care, you need to help her." Sherlock said, his voice distorted as he tried to speak with moving his face as little as possible. He led Penny to the couch gently, shushing her as she sobbed just as he would when she was an infant. "Oh, Penny. I'm so sorry." He whispered to her, trying not to dissolve into tears. He needed to hold it together. John grabbed his medical bag from its place on the mantel and opened it, pulling out three different liquids, combining them in a small dish. The smell of it shot Sherlock back to their fifth year of school, when he and John had the same burns. He knew it was going to hurt and it was all he could do to not leave the room the minute John began to swab the liquid against Penny's burned arms. She whimpered, clearly trying not to yell out in pain, but tears rolled fast from her green eyes. It was over within a minute, though, an attest to John's skill and ability to work despite the fact that his patient was in obvious pain. He looked up at her with a sigh, pushing a lock of hair back from her wet face, before turning to Sherlock. He was easier, just a simple spell to repair his broken nose and some potion to stop the bleeding on his head, but he looked awful. Haunted gray eyes, sallow face covered in blood, his whole body deflated and ashamed.

He dug into his bag and pulled out a little vile of purple liquid, handing it to Penny. Sleeping drought. She nodded and went up to her room without another word, kissing both of them on the temple before leaving. John was silent as he cleared the burn liquid out of the bowl with his wand and filled it with water, pulling a small towel from his bag and soaking it, wiping the blood from Sherlock's face.

"John, I—"

"Spare me, Sherlock. I doubt anything you say will make this okay." John's voice was hard and sharp as a razor's edge, cutting Sherlock down to his core. It must have shown plainly on his face, or else John realized what he said was hurtful, because he sighed and looked directly into the gray eyes, "Why didn't you tell me? You dropped the Sirius case because he threatened you, right? You didn't think I would want to know when your safety is in danger?"

"It wasn't my safety…it was yours, was hers…I didn't tell you because they threatened to harm you if I did and I couldn't…I couldn't lose you, John. I nearly lost you once. And Penny, she's just a child, John! I never imagined this would ever..." He screwed his eyes shut and exhaled slowly, trying to control himself. John gently wiped the blood away from his nose and lips before kissing him softly.

"Sherlock, when I married you I promised to be honest with you, and you promised me the same. We're supposed to be partners. You can't leave me out, even if it puts me in danger…" he frowned, placing a gentle hand against Sherlock's face, waiting patiently for the gray eyes to open. "I know you're afraid of losing us. I'm afraid too. But you can't keep me in the dark. And you can't go running off to the ministry whenever you are struck with brilliance! Those two henchmen of his just popped in here and attacked us as soon as you were gone. You need to think, idiot." John smirked at him, and Sherlock gave a shaky laugh. "Idiot" had become a sort of term of endearment between them.

Sherlock sighed and nodded, "I'm sorry, John." He whispered, sincerity coming off of him in waves, John kissed his still-sore nose by way of acceptance.

**These chapters are slowly becoming a lot longer than usual. Thanks to Starry for giving me some peace of mind and helping me organize my thoughts for this chapter. Leave reviews!**


	12. Chapter 12

**Special thanks to my new Beta, Starry! Hopefully between the two of us we'll be able to stamp out those pesky grammatical errors. –xo**

Chapter 12

Penny sat at the vanity in her room, running a soft-bristled brush through her shiny curls. Downstairs she could hear her parents yelling at each other, sighing she pointed her wand at the radio in the corner. The volume raised slightly, but not enough to cover the sound of their quarrel.

"Sherlock, every year we have the same goddamned argument and every year I win it. I don't understand why you are even bothering!" John yelled, sounding exasperated.

"Because it's ridiculous! Why am I going to dress myself up in a stupid suit to go to my brother's stupid party and be judged by everyone there? Especially since I'm still recovering!"

"Because it is Christmas eve, Sherlock! And if you'd let me heal you, you'd have nothing to recover from!"

"I am perfectly able to heal on my own, thank you very much!"

"No, you are perfectly able to act like an arse so you can have a thin excuse to not go to the party and I'm not accepting it. You are going!"

"No, I'm _not_!" There was the sound of their bedroom door slamming shut, followed by the flinging open of the closet, and Penny groaned, rubbing her temples. Her fathers had done nothing but bicker since the episode at the ministry. After the 24 hours it took for John and Penny to get over their mental trauma and get the full story from Sherlock, John had gone from playing concerned doctor to slowly becoming frustrated with his husband's moping. Sherlock didn't bother to get out of bed, his whole body sore and covered in bruises from the beating he had received, feeling ashamed for the danger he had put his family in. John and Penny didn't care so much about that, understanding that the times were dangerous and so was Sherlock's job, but the way he was handling it like a petulant child infuriated John. Penny stayed out of their hair, hiding in her room with her violin and her books and her cat, but sounds carried loudly in their home.

Their bickering was suddenly cut off, and Penny breathed a sigh of relief. They had put a silencing charm on their room, either to cover the sounds of their continued argument or that of their violent make-up snogging, neither of which she was too keen on listening to. Rolling her emerald eyes, she crossed to her own closet to grab the dress Sherlock had paid for her for the party tonight. Her Uncle always held and extravagant Christmas eve ball, which she loved but Sherlock loathed. He hated everything to do with his family, really, and there were always more than a few Holmes present at these events, along with other dignitaries from the wizarding community. It was all very sophisticated. Her dress was a gorgeous organza and silk gown in her signature emerald, the bodice overlaid with black lace that matched the gloves they had bought to match after the ordeal at the ministry, affectively covering the scars from her burns. The neckline was modest, with sheer, jeweled petal sleeves, and she had a black fur shawl to wear when outside in the snow. Grinning at the beautiful, extravagant outfit, she crossed to her bathroom to continue to get ready, ignoring Sherlock's refusal for them to attend this party just as effectively as John was.

Downstairs, John was angrily straddling his husband, who still lay completely undressed in bed, having not bothered to get up though he had been awake for hours. He had his wand pointed threateningly under Sherlock's jaw, which was freckled with ginger stubble. They were glaring at each other in silence, in some sort of high-intensity staring contest, eyes narrowed and locked. "We. Are. Going." John fumed through gritted teeth, pushing the tip of his wand deeper into the soft skin.

Sherlock scowled, a menacing smile playing on his cupid's bow lips, "What are you going to do? Torture me? Or maybe use the Imperious?" he was taunting John, whose grip tightened around the handle of the wand.

"Don't tempt me." John snarled, though they both knew perfectly well John wouldn't dream of hurting Sherlock.

The taller man sighed, letting his head hang back against the pillows, closing the icy gray eyes. "Why must we go?" he whined, shifting under John's weight.

"Because 1: you already told Mycroft we would. 2: We're supposed to be acting like nothing happened last week and 3: you swore ten years ago that you would give Penny a normal childhood and Christmas is normal, Sherlock. She loves this annual ball and you know it. So get your lazy arse up and take a shower for God's sake. You're a mess." He removed his wand from Sherlock's face, setting it on the bedside table, rocking back so his weight was against Sherlock's groin. He huffed out a sigh, rolling his neck.

"_Fine." _Sherlock muttered, trying to ignore where John was placed between his hips, though the blond man was clearly doing it to distract him from arguing with him. He put his hands on the tops of John's thighs, looking at him with a raised brow. "I can't very well get up with you sitting here, can I? Unless you want to stay there, that's fine too." John rolled his eyes and gracelessly plopped onto his back next to Sherlock, who turned and kissed his neck. "Sorry. For yelling." He muttered before walking to the bathroom. John lay there watching him, as Sherlock didn't bother closing the door. His pale skin was riddled with yellowing bruises, especially along his side from hitting the cabinets. The look of them made John feel ill, but Sherlock refused to let him erase them, claiming it was unnecessary. John knew him better than that, though, knew he kept them to remind himself of the grave mistake he made, suffered through the body aches and the fractured ribs to punish himself. It felt extreme to John, but he knew better than to argue with Sherlock on such things.

"Can you at least let me clear up the ones on your face?" John grumbled once Sherlock had disappeared behind the shower curtain, standing and crossing in the mirror of the bathroom, studying his own face and neck. The few bruises he had from his bonds were completely gone. He heard Sherlock grunt in reply, and he accepted that as an affirmation, leaving to go check on Penny.

By nightfall the three of them managed to be completely showered, made over, dressed, and presentable, standing in the sitting room of their flat. Penny was clearly bubbling over from excitement, and Sherlock scowled at how grown up she looked, adjusting the stupid bow tie John insisted he wear. His husband smacked his hands away and tenderly fixed it after a moment. Sherlock had to admit John looked good, actually pulling off the black tuxedo, whereas Sherlock felt ridiculous and uncomfortable in the outfit. The way his husband's eyes grazed over his long, darkly clad body, however, made him feel slightly better. John gave him a meaningful look, "Everyone is going to _behave_ tonight, right?" He glanced at Penny, who nodded, batting her eyes innocently. The blue eyes settled on Sherlock, raising a brow, and the taller man sighed in exasperation, nodding with a roll of his eyes. John placed a hand against Sherlock's face with a reassuring smile; he knew social events made Sherlock uncomfortable and was frankly glad to have convinced him to come at all. He had nearly accepted that he and Penny would be attending alone, leaving the pouty detective behind; but then John was very convincing when he needed to be.

One by one the three of them stepped into the fireplace and was transported via floo powder to Mycroft's manor in the countryside. In the parlor which they stepped into milled several dozen people in formalwear, chattering amiably while holding flukes of bubbling liquid by their stems. Sherlock grabbed one of these drinks immediately after exiting the massive marble fireplace, taking a large gulp of it, ignoring John's incredulous glaring.

Mycroft's home was enormous, a Victorian mansion resting on hundreds of acres of rolling hills and a fully stocked wood. Somehow over the years he had earned a reputation as having the best Christmas eve parties, and his balls became an annual playground for the Ministry elite. The minister himself always made sure to stop by, much to Sherlock's distaste. This year his theme of décor seemed to be black and silver, as most of the decorations seemed to consist of black tree branches dripping in crystal or silver orbs of light floating along the room. The effect was very enchanting, if not completely over the top.

"You are late." Mycroft's voice floated pompously behind them, and the small family wheeled around to greet him. He was wearing a white tuxedo, standing out among the darkly-clad men around him, which was obviously his intention.

"Fashionably." Sherlock replied, his back instantly straightening so that he could stand just an inch taller than his older brother, who gave him an exasperated look before shaking John's hand in greeting. Penny flitted over and wrapped her arms around his middle and he hugged her back, all coldness melting with his niece.

"Merry Christmas, princess." He said kindly, holding her away from him so he can examine her dress. She did a little turn, fishing for compliments. "I hardly recognized you. Seems like your dads were capable of raising a lady after all." Mycroft winked at her and she laughed into a gloved hand, John and Sherlock rolling their eyes in sync. "I'll give you my gift later, yes? I believe some of your schoolmates are in the ballroom." Penny grinned and waved goodbye to her parents, skipping off through the room and out of sight. Mycroft looked at his brother and brother-in-law, "Do try to enjoy yourselves, yes? And be sure to find Mummy before they leave. She gets so upset when you don't make an effort to see her." Sherlock rolled his eyes, never seeing his mother so much as step a toe over any emotion greater than irked, let alone "so upset" but he nodded, placing his hand on the small of John's waist and leading him away from his brother.

Sherlock was grateful, as he usually was, that John was so exceptionally good at mingling with others. They made their way through the parlor without much trouble, exchanging pleasantries with those whom either of them was familiar with. John made a habit of smoothly taking over conversations when people were beginning to make Sherlock uncomfortable, or else turning them to topics Sherlock could participate in so that he did not feel left out. It was a gift, Sherlock knew, to be able to behave so comfortably in front of others, to converse so easily, and he made a mental note to compliment John on it if they were able to get a moment alone. Once they had officially conquered the parlor, John took Sherlock's hand and together they walked into the ballroom; Sherlock's reaction to the extravagance of it all was a groan, but John looked thoroughly impressed. There was an orchestra on a platform on the far side of the room, just in front of one of the biggest Christmas trees John had seen outside of Hogwarts. Throughout the room were elegantly dancing couples and people milling about the edges of the room, the music just loud enough to prevent meaningful conversation, lucky for Sherlock.

"What do I have to do to convince you to dance?" John said into Sherlock's ear, trying to look innocent, but Sherlock could see the mischief in the blue eyes. He snorted in reply, giving him a look which he was sure accurately conveyed how stupid he found that question to be. John smiled, undeterred, "Well, your mum is over there," he looked pointedly across the room, where Penny was standing in front of her grandmother, who was sitting in a silver armchair, admiring her dress, "It's that or talk to her because…oh look, she's seen us." John grinned then, giving a little wave to Mrs. Holmes, who nodded and gave Sherlock a stern look.

"You are criminal, John." Sherlock groaned, but he took the smaller man by the wrist and soon they were circling the dance floor, John grinning. He actually enjoyed dancing, though when he met Sherlock he was terrible at it. The detective had to spend painstaking hours teaching John how to perform simple dances to avoid looking like a fool at their wedding. Now, after fifteen years of marriage and nearly twenty of friendship, he could keep up with the extremely graceful man.

"Oh come off it, you enjoy showing off. Even when it comes to dancing." Sherlock rolled his eyes to avoid outwardly saying John was correct, and he laughed. Somewhere in Sherlock's mind he relaxed, the genuine laughter of his husband making him feel slightly more at ease. They hadn't done much laughing in the past week. John's forehead wrinkled as Sherlock failed to reply, a frown playing on the edges of his mouth, and Sherlock pressed his lips against the worried lines, smoothing them. The song ended and they clapped politely with the others, crossing off the dance floor to where Sherlock's mother sat. Penny was nowhere to be seen.

"Hello, mother." Sherlock said quietly, locking his hands behind his back, formal. The elderly woman had not changed much in the time John had known her, though her once gingery-blond hair was now completely gray and her body had become slightly softer, wrinkled in age. She was still tall and thin, all sharp angles and catlike eyes, like her youngest son, though her usual coolness seemed to have worn off slightly, either because of the amount of drink she had had or perhaps because her perpetually-angry husband was nowhere to be seen. John assumed it was probably a mix of both. Marissa Holmes adjusted her rimless glasses, studying Sherlock briefly before nodding. "Been talking to Penny, then?" he sighed, and John looked between them, once again missing some sort of silent conversation the two had by deducing each other; he didn't know why he bothered being surprised anymore, really.

"And your brother. Really, Sherlock, I'm surprised at you. I thought you were smarter than that." She tapped her fingertip against her knee, frowning. John realized they were talking about the incident at the ministry, and he felt like groaning. It was supposed to be hushed up.

"Does father know?" Sherlock asked quietly, ducking so that he was kneeling at his mother's side, their identical gray eyes locked, and John was once again struck with how similar they really looked, and for the briefest moment wondered what his child would look like if he _actually_ fathered one. He shook the thought from his head, glad that his husband could not read his mind completely.

"Of course not. You know he has connections to…such families. I'm not a fool, Sherlock." Her tone was harsh, clearly insulted, but Sherlock merely nodded, long fingered hand gently grasping the hand on her knee. Despite his bubbling hatred of his father, it was clear that Sherlock was actually quite fond of Marissa, though she was not in any sense the most expressive or coddling of mothers. It was probably better that way, anyway; she didn't hand out affection and Sherlock didn't request it. She turned her eyes to John then, her expression unfathomable, "You are taking care of my son and granddaughter, yes?"

It was hard to tell if she was joking or not, so John rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, "Yes, ma'am. As much as I am able." He shifted his weight and Sherlock stood, a cringe passing his face for the briefest moment as he moved his still-fragile limbs. Pressing a light kiss on his mother's cheek, he wished her a happy Christmas and led John from the ballroom, absentmindedly smoothing the blond hair John had mussed back down. John snatched his hand and squeezed it gently, knowing that Sherlock was irritable and probably in pain and clearly did not want to run into his father, but the tall man didn't complain and John rubbed small comforting circles into the back of the scarred hand.

After several hours of tedious socializing and a few drinks, the couple headed up the grand staircase in the front of the big house and into Mycroft's study, where Penny already sat with her uncle. It was tradition, really, for them to come up and spend a few quiet moments together as Mycroft presented Penny with what was sure to be a ridiculously expensive gift. Penelope's presence in their lives had truly changed all three of the men; Sherlock's relationship with his brother had greatly improved since his adoration for the girl became apparent, and John liked Mycroft much more when he wasn't irritating the hell out of his husband. Once the two took their places on the plush loveseat in the study, facing the bookshelf in front of which Mycroft sat in an armchair and Penny was on the floor, her skirts fanned out around her, Mycroft pulled from behind his chair a long, thin parcel. John didn't need Sherlock's deduction skills to see exactly what it was, and Penny seemed to be thinking along the same lines, sitting up straight and snatching the gift excitedly from him. She ripped open the paper and pulled the box open, letting out a little scream of excitement. It was indeed a broomstick sitting inside, but even John was surprised to see the name written in curly gold letters along the handle: Nimbus 2001.

"These aren't even out yet!" Penny exclaimed, pulling it excitedly from the box, a gloved hand sliding along the smooth handle appreciatively.

"I know a man. Merry Christmas, pet." Mycroft smiled smugly and leaned back in his seat, and Penny's green eyes turned to her parents.

"Can we try it out, please?" she begged, glancing out the window. The moon shone brightly over fresh snow, but the skies were clear and calm. John instantly stood up, nodding, but Mycroft straightened.

"Actually, John, I was hoping I could speak to you in private. Sherlock and Penny are of course more than welcome to go ahead…" he gave his brother a meaningful look, as if to say "get out _now_" and Sherlock sighed, snatching Penny's shawl from where it hung over the arm of a chair, wrapping it around her as he lead her from the room and out of the big house. Once the door had shut, Mycroft crossed the room and pour two glasses of an amber-colored liquid, handing one to John, who accepted it and sat back down, frowning. Mycroft very rarely spoke to John exclusively.

He cleared his throat after a moment's pause, "You, uh, really outdid yourself with that gift…" John took a sip of the strong alcohol, tapping his foot impatiently.

"I do try. At this point in my life I've given up the idea of filling this house with children. I spoil Penny instead. I do hope you don't mind." The eldest Holmes brother turned to face the roaring fire, one hand held behind his back, the other swirling the drink in his hand absentmindedly. "John, you've known my brother for a great many years. I'm sure you'd agree that you know him better than anyone else in this world or the next."

"Well…as well as anyone can know him, I suppose. He is Sherlock, after all." John shrugged. He had accepted that his husband was an enigma almost immediately after meeting him. While he may know him better than anyone else, he would never understand him completely, and that fact didn't bother him so much anymore, though it used to.

Mycroft turned to face John, his face half in shadow from the burning fire behind him. "We were all…accepting when he asked you to marry him. And we understood your motives for adopting Penny. When the Potters were killed we were all able to breathe a lot easier, thinking you-know-who was dead. But, as you've seen, there is still great evil lurking about, evil that my brother's choices have put you and Penelope in the direct line of. I care a great deal for my brother, especially for his mental health, and I know that if something were to happen to the two of you he would never recover. Mummy agrees." He took a step forward to stand in front of John, his face passive but his gray eyes filled with some smoldering determination, "Sherlock's name is already on one list, possibly even more. This makes you and Penny targets. I am prepared to pay any sum of money to relocate yourself and your daughter for your safety. There are whispers, Doctor, which I'm sure you've heard. He-who-must-not-be-named may very well rise from the dead, and if and when he does, there will be a war. I can get you two out now, transfer Penny to Beauxbatons or even a school in the Americas, keep you safe."

John stared at Mycroft in disbelief, mouth hanging open. "You are suggesting that in order to keep your brother's sanity Penelope and I should ship off somewhere? Run away from a war that may or may not happen? Have you gone completely mad? Do you have any idea what Sherlock's like when I'm not there to calm him down? He loses it. And I can't live without him either. Penny needs him and so do I. We are a family, Mycroft, and no amount of fear is going to make us change that. I'm an adult, I think I can handle my family's safety without Big Brother's help." And with that John gulped the remainder of the burning liquid, slamming the glass down and storming out of the room with the intention of gathering his husband and daughter and leaving that second.

Outside on the massive expanse of grounds, Sherlock leaned against a tree, watching Penny zip around the clearing with both legs over the same side of the broomstick as if riding a horse side-saddle. He had to admit he was impressed with her balance and absolute fearlessness as she shot sometimes straight into the sky and pummeled back down at high speeds. After a few moments she lowered herself in front of her father, bobbing up and down ever so slightly as she hovered in front of him. Sherlock was reminded of John, of those stolen moments by the lake, and he smiled at her. She appraised him for a moment. "You know he's worried sick about you, right?" Penny finally said, cocking her head slightly. Sherlock's smile instantly dissolved, and he narrowed his eyes at his daughter, "I'm sure you've seen it too, how unwell he's been. But when he leaves the room and you're still in bed moping…Daddy I caught him all teary-eyed in the kitchen after one of your rows…" She crossed her arms, "I know why you're upset but I wish you'd care more about his feelings too."

"Penelope you don't understand—"

"I understand that you refuse to let things go and it's hurting dad and I don't like it." She said, her tone verging on whining. Before Sherlock could retort, they saw John trudging up the snowy hill to where they stood, his head ducked, obviously agitated. She gave Sherlock a meaningful look before zipping off toward him. By the time they reached Sherlock again John was smiling at some joke or another Penny had said, but it didn't touch the blue eyes. Something was obviously very wrong with John, and Sherlock was determined to know what it was that Mycroft had said to them.

"Why don't we go home, then?" John said after watching Penny circle the clearing once more. He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, his cheeks and nose red from cold. Sherlock nodded, concerned but refusing to ask in Penny's presence. The three of them apparated home without bothering to go back to the party; no one would miss them anyway.

**Please leave reviews! -xo**


End file.
